The Wurlitzer Prize
by columbiachica
Summary: Rory's tried to move on, but her mind keeps whispering... I don't wanna get over you. [Literati]
1. Hannah Hold On

**The Wurlitzer Prize**   
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Part One: Hannah Hold On

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Disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls or any of the characters you recognize in this story. What I do own is the situation and the original characters.

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Rating: It's a strong PG-13. If you have problems with cursing, you might have problems in later chapters.

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Author's Note: Jess never went to California; Jess' dad never showed up. Just pretend that never happened and you'll be fine.

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Dedications: First of all to **emrie** for being the best beta in the whole wide world. Without her, this fic would be really awful. To **Kate** for reading this thing so many times and giving me support. To **Chris** because she's cool. And to the **Gilmore Girls fanfiction thread** at FanForum for being crazy and awesome.

It's blue outside, that warm hue that comes at the end of summer, damp and drizzling, steamy with the end of a long, hot summer. The streets are chaotic, dizzy with people swarming, trying to escape the patter. A horn pierces the air, shrieking over the gentle hum of traffic and pedestrians. The woman ignores it, keeping up her pace as she plows down the sidewalk, bent on getting home before six. She cuts someone off as she turns into her apartment complex; they call her a name she doesn't register as she hurries up the steps to her third-story walk-up.

Inside, her apartment is bare. It contains little in the way of decoration; nothing matches. She wanders into the only bedroom, dropping her battered briefcase on the uncovered, dusty hardwood floor. Sighing, she sits on the rumpled bed and peels her stockings off, tossing them haphazardly on the ground next to yesterday's underwear. Her closet is in disarray per usual; she makes the same mental note that she does every time she opens it: clean it. Her fingers dance over the dull, bent hangers as she selects a dress.

The dress has that well-worn quality about it: not worn out, but used. The woman slides her work clothes off and stands in her undergarments for a moment of undefined length, gazing out the dripping window. Shaking her head forcefully, she steps into the dress and zips it up. It takes her a moment to get the zipper all the way up and she frowns as she sees that the dress is growing too small. She sees one high heel on its side by the bed and lies on the floor to locate the other; it is under the bed, next to her gray silk camisole. 

As she gets up, the bell rings. Startled, the woman stuffs her shoes on and races to find her dressy purse. "Hold on!" she calls as she scours the living room floor. "I'm coming!" she adds as she jams her things in the tiny satin contraption. Breathlessly, she yanks the door open. "Hi," she greets the man as she brings her shoe up to her hand to make certain that it's clasped correctly.

"Hi," he replies. "I hope I'm not late."

Manufacturing a smile, she says, "No, not at all."

"Good. Shall we?" he offers.

"Right." As she steps out of the apartment, he takes her hand. She shakes it off under the guise of needing to lock the door, then crosses her arms. "Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise," he says.

"A good one?" she asks, her mind whirling.

"I think so," he says, grinning. He opens his umbrella in the lobby before they step foot outside.

"It's bad luck to open an umbrella indoors," she chastises him.

"I don't want to get wet."

"It's just a few feet," she continues.

  
"Do you want to get wet?" he asks from under his umbrella. A woman passing gives them a strange look.

"It doesn't matter. It's only a few feet. I'll be dry before we get to wherever we're going."

"You don't know where we're going."

"No."

"Then how do you know how long it will take?" he inquires, tipping the umbrella back to rest on his shoulder.

"It doesn't matter. I'll be dry by them because I won't get that wet since it's only a few feet."

He almost says something, but sighs. "Look, whatever. I don't want to argue about this. What is your problem, anyway?"

"_My_ problem?" she says in surprise.

"Yes, your problem."

"You're the one who's too uptight to even walk a few feet in the rain."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" he asks.

"Nothing," she says quickly. "Let's just go."

"Fine. Great." He walks out first, not bothering to hold the door for her. Miffed, she shoves the door open and walks at a deliberately sluggish pace. When she gets into his car, he has not turned the heater on and the leather chills the backs of her legs.

"I'm cold," she says.

"I'll turn it on in a minute." He doesn't look at her. Exasperated, she leans over and twists the knob all the way to the red side. "Did you not hear me?"

"I heard you." She turns her head to look out the window. After a couple minutes, he turns it down to the middle. The rest of the ride is spent in an unpleasant quietus with only the sound of the rain to accompany it. He pulls up at the curb of a large, indistinct building and her face falls. She had hoped for a more romantic date for their fourteen-month anniversary, but yet again, she will settle.

He opens her door as usual, but looks distantly away into the rain as she clambers out. After she climbs out, he locks the door and ushers her into the restaurant, the same one they always go to, Theo's. When they stand, waiting to be seated, he puts his hand on the small of her back absently, like an armrest. She moves away from the impersonal gesture, but he does not acknowledge it.

A minute later, they are seated at a table by the window with a view of the now-dreary street. She studies her menu diligently, as does he. Their silent symphony is filled by the clatter of silverware and the drone of chatter. "Do you know what you want?" he asks after ten forevers.

"I think I'll just have the chicken Alfredo."

"Hmm. I might have the prime rib."

"Great," she mutters sarcastically. When, she wonders, did she become so boring? They always ordered the same things when they went out; they always went out to the same restaurants; they always saw the same people.

He does not react to her sarcasm, just looks back at his menu for no reason. She fiddles with the necklace around her neck and casually surveys the restaurant. In the distance, she notices an obviously new couple. They are staring into each other's eyes, truly absorbed in what the other is saying. The woman is dressed impeccably, everything in place, her hair perfectly done. He is fidgeting with his tie, clearly unaccustomed to its restriction. They are leaning towards each other, hands creeping together.

She looks back at her date. He is slumped in his seat a little, his menu propped up against the table, his tie loosened a bit. Her eyes flicker to the table, and she plays with the cutlery, rearranging it in nonsensical patterns.

"Are you ready to order?" the waiter asks, jolting her out of her game.

"She would like the chicken Alfredo—"

"Caesar or house salad?"

"House," he answers. "And I would like the prime rib medium well with a baked potato and the Caesar."

"Drinks?"

"Merlot." He folds his menu and extends it toward the waiter, and she does the same. She doesn't have the energy to tell him that she hates salads in all capacities and that she doesn't like red wine.

"Happy anniversary," he tells her, his voice rather dull. A red velvet box is pushed across the table, and she merely looks at it, stunned and stultified. "Open it," he commands.

"You didn't have to get me anything," she says automatically, which is her requisite reply at all Christmas parties.

He stares at her strangely. "Of course I did."

Reluctantly, she takes the box and eases the hinges open. Inside is a diamond tennis bracelet, shimmering at her mockingly. "Thank you," she says mechanically, even though she never wears bracelets, or jewelry except for watches or necklaces. This will be deposited into her drawer, next to the dangly diamond earrings he bought her for their one year anniversary. She does not have pierced ears.

"You're welcome." He gestures for the package and she holds her wrist out. Concentrating on the miniscule clasp, he secures it around her thin wrist. She notices sadly that she no longer jumps inside when he touches her; in fact, she has no reaction. It is as platonic as a pair of cousins. She knows that he senses it as well, as he simply returns the box to her and looks out the window. Suddenly, she feels like sobbing, for she knows that this is the end. Isn't one supposed to cry when something dies?

"I'm going to go to the ladies room," she whispers, her voice strained. She stands quickly and speed-walks to the ladies restroom. There is an elderly woman inside, applying a taupe-y lipstick with shaky hands. She locks herself in a stall and sits on the toilet, allowing her head to drop into her hands. The older woman drops the lipstick into her purse with a plastic clink and exits, leaving the room in absolute stillness. No sound penetrates the thick door, and there aren't florescent lights to buzz overhead. She massages her temples, willing herself to refrain from crying; she has no mascara in her purse. After five minutes, she feels stable enough to return to the table.

As she leaves, she sees her face in the mirror. It looks the same as always, childish and plain, pale with pink cheeks. But, if one were to scrutinize closely enough, he or she could see her multifarious worries etched into her face. Today they are particularly evident, especially in the depths of her crystalline eyes. No one looks in them deeply anymore, though, she reminds herself, departing hastily.

Back at the table, he is sitting in exactly the same position, as though her presence is in no way needed or recognized. Vaguely, she wonders if he even noticed her absence. 

He turns to her. "Rory," he says.

"Michael," she answers, noting the somber note in his tone. The marriage proposal that Jen predicted is not impending.

"I think that we need to talk."

"Oh," is all she can say.

"Look…" He pauses. She can see everything he wants to say float across his face, and for the first time in months, her heart clenches for him. He's seen the deterioration too. He's seen that past few months of their slow moving apart like erosion. He's seen the fissures start to pronounce themselves in the relationship, even though it seems like he's paying no attention at all.

"I know," is all she says in response. He releases a great breath, and she smiles wanly, then stands.

"Where are you going?"

"I think I need to leave," she says. She walks to his side of the table and kisses him on the cheek. "I'm sorry."

"Me too," he says sincerely. "You don't have to go."

"No, I do." A sad nostalgia creeps through her stomach as she turns her back on him and saunters through the restaurant and out the door. 

She lets herself out into the rainy night feeling tentatively lonely. Some plaintive notes and a hazy feminine voice from a jazz club down the street float into the night as rain gingerly assails her body. She considers catching a cab, but just keeps walking through the musky night towards home.

The usual nothingness greets her as she pushes the door to her apartment open. The red light on her answering machine is a steady red stream, indicating the usual lack of new messages. Soaking, Rory falls onto the couch and sighs deeply. Oddly, she feels nothing powerful yet, just a strange inner tranquility. With her toe, she turns on the stereo to some Diana Krall, inspired by the jazz club.

Head lolling against the back of the couch, she lets the notes waltz over her body like the rain. Closing her eyes, she watches the past fourteen months unravel before her eyes: meeting Michael, their first nervous date, the subsequent phone tag for two weeks, and then, the comfortable routine they had established. Dimly, Rory wonders how she let another relationship trickle away. There had been no defining moment wherein the relationship had collapsed; it was slow and sneaky and almost imperceptible, like jazz. There had been no climactic moment, which, Rory reflects, might have been the problem.

Deep down, though, Rory knows the real problem: they didn't know each other. He still didn't know that she despised salads and red wine, and she wouldn't know how to order his steak. All spontaneity had petered out of their affair; the umbrella argument was merely trivial manifestation of the fact. A deep melancholy pinches her stomach, and a tear leaks down her cheek. Rolling over onto her side, she curls up on the threadbare old sofa and lets the tears rain down as the music fills the room like smoke.

She wakes up the next morning, cramped and stiff, her dress drowned in wrinkles. The sun is pouring through her windows, poking obtrusively through her open curtain. "Shut up," she tells it irritably and whisks her curtains shut. Wobbling on her heels, she teeters into the kitchen and scrounges up some coffee; she is dangerously low, and she needs to go to the market. While the machine gurgles, Rory leans against the counter and squints at yesterday's newspaper, pretending to read it. She is good at pretending.

A streak of sun sneaks in through the curtains, and a glitter catches her eye. The tennis bracelet on her wrist is gleaming, resplendent in the morning sun. For a minute, Rory just stares at it, reflecting rationally on the life she might have had; the next minute, she takes it off and slips it into an anonymous kitchen drawer, next to some gizmo she's never used. The coffee is done by now, and Rory fills a cup to take with her to the bathroom.

The towel from yesterday's shower is still on the floor, and Rory picks it up to recycle it. She turns the shower on to a scalding temperature and immerses herself in the water for half an hour while her skin turns red and dry. After getting out, she doesn't bother to lotion herself as usual; no one's going to see it anyway, she tells herself dismally.

Outside her apartment, she can hear the commotion of a usual Saturday. Grumbling, she switches her stereo on loudly to drown the cheery people out. For once, Rory Gilmore does not feel like being cheery.

As she's getting dressed, the phone rings shrilly. She makes a mental note to herself: change ring. Of course, she makes the same mental note every time, and chances that it will get done are slim.

"Hello?" Rory asks, sounding almost hostile.

"'Hello?'"

"That's a customary greeting, Jen."

"Okay. You forgot."

"Forgot what?" asks Rory, tired of this circular game.

"Coffee? Ten?"

"Damn," Rory mumbles, buttoning her jeans awkwardly. "How about now?"

"I'll just come over. I'm close enough."

"Fine. Bring some coffee with you."

"Way ahead of you." Click, and Jen is gone. 

Jen is always way ahead of her. Sometimes, not always, but sometimes, Rory is relatively sure that Jen knows her better than Rory knows herself. A slight smile breaks her frown as she remembers meeting Jen on her first day at Harvard. 

After a semester of Yale and being tied so tightly to Stars Hollow, Rory decided that college was time to explore and she transferred to Harvard and moved to Cambridge. After all, Elizabeth Wurtzel didn't suffer her worst bouts of depression in New Haven, Connecticut. Cambridge, Rory was convinced, was a far more literary town.

Her first day was a total disaster. By the end of it, she was missing Stars Hollow, missing her mother, even missing New Haven, the world's most boring town. And then came Jen. Rory slunk into a dank coffee shop and Jen, petite Jen with her straight, smooth, shiny hair of an indeterminate blonde-ish color, served Rory a special coffee with a quadruple shot. Rory always had liked people in food service.

Jen went to Boston University, but commuted to Cambridge to work at Harvest because her boyfriend had once worked there. He quit, "but I couldn't," Jen explained to Rory on one of their late-night coffee-benders, long after the place was closed to the public. They became inseparably close: Jen knew about Rory's childhood and her mothers, and Rory found out that, to her surprise, Jen was a Rules girl. 

Rory quickly stuffs her clothes under the bed and runs into the kitchen to attempt some damage control. Frantically, she looks in the dishwasher for a place to stash the dishes stacked in the sink, but it is full. Clean or dirty, she has no idea. Rory uses her last resort: the stove. The stove is a mystery to her; therefore, its only occupation is destined to be dish- or shoe-storer.

As she's clanging loudly in the kitchen, the bell slices through. "Argh," Rory mutters, hastily getting up. Her bare feet slap the floor as she goes to the door.

Jen says nothing in the way of salutation, just breezes through in her usual cleanly-ironed, neat clothing, carrying two take-out cups and a large can of Folger's. Rory stands at the door for a moment longer, pretending that the two exchanged pleasantries, then trails Jen into the living room.

"Jesus, Rory."

With a tinge of horror, Rory remembers that she's forgotten to shut the oven door. "Oh, yeah," she says vaguely, waving her hand as though that makes the situation rational.

Jen stares at her hard, and Rory twists her head away. "Not again," says Jen.

"I didn't initiate it!" Rory exclaims defensively.

"Rory…"

"Here we go," Rory says sullenly.

Tugging her jean jacket off, Jen drapes it over the back of a chair and collapses into a chair. "I thought he might be the one," Jen says sadly.

"Okay, but _I_ have to think he's the one."

"Rory, you're never going to think anyone's _the one_. I might as well pick. I have good taste."

Rory snorts derisively. "Oh, yeah. Scott. Real winner there."

"Hey," Jen snaps. Rory knows that picking on Scott is not the thing to do. Jen, for all her worldly advice about relationships, can never seem to keep one. In fact, her attitude towards men is almost archaic; she focuses on getting and keeping a man. Scott has stuck around for a year, and Rory has to admit, he is a pretty decent guy. But it doesn't mean that she's not a little jealous that even romantically-challenged Jen is in a happy relationship.

"Someone's getting defensive."

"Quit it. Quit turning this around."

"You're not my mother, Jen. It's not a big deal. So I broke up with Michael. Woo-hoo, I'll slip it in the paper tomorrow."

"It _is_ a big deal, Rory. Michael…Josh…Eli…Aiden…Alex…Allen…Jared—"

"Okay, I get the point. I am unmarriageable."

"No. You're just noncommittal."

"Oh, good." Rory crosses her arms over her chest and finally sinks into the sofa. Dejection is written all over her features; she feels worse now than immediately after the split.

"Look, Rory—the guy, that one guy you're always thinking about—"

"Stop!" Rory cries, standing suddenly. "You don't know anything about that." Even in all their late-night chats, Rory never mentioned Jess, even when she was with him. To this day, she's not sure if it's because she was embarrassed of him or because she wanted to keep it her pleasant little secret.

Jen looks mildly satisfied, which pisses Rory off. She sits again. "So you got your heart broken. That's about as big a deal as breaking up with the first three guys. Get _over_ it, Rory."

"It's not that simple," Rory argues, still miffed about the self-aggrandizing expression on Jen's face.

"Rory. You're right—I don't know anything about the guy. But I do know that he's slipped into every part of your life. He's—it's keeping you from being happy. It's not healthy to fixate."

What the hell does Jen know? She's the one who falls ass-backwards in love over a one-night stand, then spends a week crying about it. "I'm _not_ fixating, Dr. Laura."

"No?" Jen raises her eyebrows. "All of those guys were perfectly nice. Michael is a doctor, Rory—"

"Not yet."

" –always good to you, rich, handsome—"

"Okay, fine! So I screwed up my life. What do you want?"

Jen rolls her eyes. "Never mind. I'm just trying to tell you that if you're ever going to be happy, you need to _let go_." With a glance at her watch, Jen rises and collects her coat. "I gotta go."

"Whatever."

With another roll of the eyes, Jen walks to the door. "Just think about, okay?"

"Go, go," Rory urges, waving her hands. A last hard scrutiny, and Jen is gone.

After Jen leaves, Rory drinks both of their coffees and takes her emergency Ben and Jerry's out of the freezer. It's TV time.

But an hour later, Rory's mind is still rotating Jen's words. What if Jen was right? What if she is irreversibly stuck on a guy who broke her heart? What if she never moves on and spends her whole life pining for someone who's probably long since moved on? Even _Springer_ fails to capture her attention as she absently twirls the spoon in her mouth, ice cream eaten many minutes ago.

What she needs is a second opinion. But where to gather one? She and Lorelai have become oddly separated. They call with some regularity, but even then, it's simply not the same. Rory, who used to be the center, is now out of focus in Lorelai's life. Of course, a bond like the one between Rory and Lorelai can never be fully broken, but it has changed with time and distance. Lorelai would not be able to offer an accurate assessment anyway; she does not know the intricate details of the incidents leading up to the heartbreak, nor does she truly understand Rory anymore. Jen doesn't even know the man's name, and other than that, Rory has no close friends or relatives.

The phone sounds, but Rory lets it ring. She curls into a tiny ball and puts her hands under her cheek. The TV casts a pale-colored glow in the room, illuminating the ice cream carton like a peculiar light fixture. The hum of people has grown louder, and combined with the chant of the _Springer_ audience, Rory's ears are ringing. She feels suffocated.

In her first swift move of the day, Rory stands up and half-runs to her bedroom. She pulls her well-used suitcase (courtesy of her grandparents) out of the closet and shoves clothing into it. Every clean item of clothing she has is rammed in; it's a tight fit. Panting, bordering on irrational, Rory jogs into the bathroom and packs makeup and toiletries in with the clothes, then zips the luggage up. Nodding to herself, Rory puts on old socks and a pair of sneakers and drags her suitcase to the door. Before she leaves, she shuts off all electronic paraphernalia and shuts the door to the oven.

She lugs the suitcase down the stairs and smiles at the man who holds the door open for her as she half-drags it outside. There is a plethora of people on the streets, and Rory Froggers her way to the edge of the sidewalk and hails a cab. The foreign cabbie helps her fit her luggage in the trunk and Rory climbs inside. It takes him three tries to properly understand the locale, but they are soon on their way. Rory looks out the window at the smoggy city and grins. She has a mission.

  



	2. Landslide

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The Wurlitzer Prize

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Part Two: Landslide

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Disclaimer: The characters in Gilmore Girls aren't mine.

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Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who reviewed. It honestly means a lot to me, and I appreciate all the words of encouragement.

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Dedications: To **emrie** first of all for so many reasons, the least of which is the editing. To **Kate** for keeping my endlessly amused. To **Chris** for being Chris.

The cab ride was gruesomely long. Rory hadn't taken into account the sheer volume of traffic that accumulated on an average Saturday afternoon. Rory and the cabbie struggled to converse throughout the ride; he couldn't speak a lot of English, and when he could, his accent was thick. By the end of their disjointed conversation, Rory was pretty sure that the cabbie thought she was going to Stars Hollow on some sort of religious mission. The ride took two-and-a-half hours, and Rory was grateful when she could finally stretch her legs. The ride cost an obscene amount of money, but still in her mildly irrational state, Rory forked the money over without a second glance.

Now here she is, standing uncertainly in the town that used to be her home. Activity buzzes around her, but she is evidently invisible. Everything is precisely as she remembers it: the gazebo still stands, with Miss Patty's and Stars Hollow High. Looking down the street, she can see Doose's, and she smiles to herself as she recalls her first kiss. How new it had all seemed!

Her gaze finally lands on Luke's, and she swallows so hard that it hurts. The suitcase slips from her hand but makes no noise on the grass. Through the window, she can see Luke serving Kirk. Nothing, it appears, has changed. Self-consciously, Rory checks her hair and tugs her shirt, wishing she had worn something else. Determined, she takes a step forward—but immediately regresses again. For a moment, she stands there, steeling herself.

Picking up her suitcase, Rory starts to march across the street. She only gets two paces, though, before stopping again. Angry with herself, she releases the suitcase again. It hits the curb precariously and teeters before falling back onto the grass on its side. _You can do this_, she tells herself, but finds it challenging to lie. She licks her lips. 

Ten minutes later, she is about ten paces farther than where she started, now on the side of the road. Passerby shift their eyes toward her for mere seconds at a time, then speedily look away. Inside the diner, Luke is brewing fresh coffee, the perfect incentive.

Breathing deeply, Rory begins the journey across the street. She is not five feet before a horn blares and a car swerves around her. "Watch where you're going!" the driver hollers, and Rory blinks. _This must be an omen_, she thinks to herself, discouraged. Setting her shoulders, Rory looks both ways before walking and reaches the sidewalk on the other side.

Now she is standing directly outside the diner. She looks up to the second-story windows and her heart contracts with longing and pain. "You lost?"

A friendly voice breaks into her self-pitying thoughts. "Oh—oh, no. Just…resting," Rory replies lamely.

The man nods. "All right." He nods and strides away.

Rory scoots closer to the light pole outside of Luke's and leans against it, peering through the windows. She feels like a voyeur, but she cannot stop herself. Luke grabs some plates from Caesar and takes them out into the diner. Rory's breath catches when he brings them to the table by the window. His eyes look out into the street, but he does not see her. He leaves and she lets her breath out with a woosh that hurts her lungs.

Twenty minutes quickly pass, and Rory decides it's time to go in. Firmly settling her suitcase in her hand, Rory pushes the door to Luke's open with bated breath. He does not notice the bell, engrossed in cooking. Surreptitiously, Rory sits on a barstool and puts her suitcase on the tile next to her. Her throat closes up as she sees that the same special is still on the board.

"Can I get you some—" Luke ends his question abruptly and he stares at Rory, too shocked to speak.

"Hi, Luke," she says, but it is a barely-audible whisper.

"Rory," he breathes cautiously. "I can't believe you're home." He walks around the counter and offers her a hug. Standing, Rory shyly accepts it, feeling sixteen again. It's a hard, affectionate hug, and Rory feels tears sting her eyes. The pinpricks in her nose start, a sure sign of crying.

"Hi," she repeats tearfully.

"I just—I had no idea you were comin' back. Sit down, I'll get you some coffee." Luke pours her a cup, and Rory sips it. "Your mom is gonna be through the roof about this."

"Sorry I didn't call," Rory says meekly. "I was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing."

"We're just happy you're back." Luke pauses and looks at her for a while. "You staying?"

"For good?" Rory asks in surprise.

"I mean, you got a couple weeks or what?"

"Oh. Oh, well, I guess I'll have to call in and see how much time I've got built up."

Luke nods and keeps looking at her. "Your hair's different."

"Oh." Rory waits a moment. "Bad different?" A conversation from many, many moons ago echoes in her head, and Rory narrowly holds back the acidic tears that were already threatening.

"No, it's—"

"I need coffee!"

Rory's eyes widen. That voice cannot be mistaken anywhere. She is afraid to turn around, wondering what her mother will say. Rory gulps and fidgets with her cup.

True to form, Luke says, "You never _need_ coffee."

"Coffee is my major food group. Get over it. You've known me long enough to know that."

"I'm eternally optimistic that it will change," Luke responds dryly. His eyes flicker to Rory. "Hey, look who's here," he says awkwardly.

Lorelai gasps. "Donny Osmond?"

"No, Lorelai, really look who's here." Luke's head jerks towards Rory, and she has no choice now. She twists around on the stool.

"Hey, Mom."

Lorelai is speechless for a second. "Babe!" she cries and tosses her arms around Rory. "What are you doing here? You didn't mention anything the last time we talked."

"It was impulsive."

"That's great! Now I'll have someone _cool_ with me on movie night," Lorelai says, shooting Luke a look.

"Lorelai, for the last time, I will _not_ impersonate Kalgon from _Space Mutiny_."

"See?" Lorelai says. "No fun."

Rory nods. "None at all."

"We have to rent _Space Mutiny_. I tried _Message in a Bottle_, but it's too boring to mock."

"That's saying something." Rory finishes her cup off. "Do you mind if I head to the house? I need to drop this stuff off," Rory says, gesturing to her suitcase.

"I'll go with you!" Lorelai says. "I need it in a to-go cup," she tells Luke. He hands her two. "Thanks. See you later."

"Yup." Lorelai leans across the counter and pecks Luke on the lips. "Come on, let's go!" Lorelai springs up from her seat, and Rory grabs her suitcase and follows, aiming a smile back at Luke. She and Lorelai wrestle the luggage into the back seat of the Jeep. "Isn't this the stuff that Grandma and Grandpa got you?"

"Yeah."

"It's nice."

"It's roomy."

"You packed a lot," Lorelai notes, eyeing Rory.

"I was irrational."

"No, you're just my daughter. We pack for all situations." Lorelai hikes into the Jeep and slams the door shut. Rory follows suit. The radio is blaring classic rock, and Lorelai instantly turns it down. They drive in companionably silence for a while. "So, why?" Lorelai finally asks. Rory knows that she's been dying to ask.

"I don't know."

"Good reasoning. I can see that Harvard education really helped you."

"I use it every way I can." Rory looks out the window. She remembers when she used to think that Stars Hollow was basically the center of the universe, when she was a little girl. Now that she's seen most of the world, she kind of wishes it was.

"Did something happen?" Lorelai presses, concerned.

"No." Rory thinks. "Michael and I broke up."

"Michael. The doctor," Lorelai says.

"Yes."

"Sorry, sweets."

"I just need some time to think."

Lorelai smiles sadly at her daughter. "Well, I'm glad you came here, hon." They pull up at the house, and wrangle the suitcase into Rory's old bedroom, which is completely intact.

"Wow," Rory marvels, her eyes taking in all the old pictures she used to admire. It's amazing to her that she has really been to all of these places. At least she didn't fail herself that way.

"I can take the afternoon off," Lorelai offers.

"No, that's all right," Rory says. "I'll just…unpack and call work and…um, maybe call Jen."

"Okay." Lorelai hugs her daughter tightly and kisses her cheek. "I'm glad you're home, babe. I missed you."

"I missed you too, Mom." 

Lorelai smiles at her one last time. "Well, I'll be home in a few hours. Just call me if you need anything."

"Okay." Lorelai backs out of the room and shuts the door. Rory sinks onto her childhood bed and stares blankly at the ceiling. Thoughts about nothing are swirling in her head. The familiarity of her old room comforts her a little, but moreover, makes her feel as though she's degenerated in some way.

Half an hour later, she's listening to the ring of Jen's telephone. "Hey," comes across the line, Jen's usual salutation.

"Hi."

"Rory, hi."

"You'll never guess where I am."

"Harvest?" Jen asks dryly.

"Try again."

There is a silence as Jen ponders. "Tiffany's?"

"Why on Earth would I be at Tiffany's?"

"You said I'd never guess," Jen says defensively.

"I'm home."

"In your apartment? That's really exciting," Jen says sardonically.

"No. _Home_ home."

"Stars Hollow?" Jen's voice is rife with disbelief.

"Yup."

"Why?"

Crackling ensues as Rory thinks about the real reason. "I'm going to get over him, Jen."

"_The_ guy?"

"Yeah."

"Did I say something too harsh?" Jen asks, her voice contrite. "I didn't mean to."

"No," Rory replies solidly. "You were right, though. He's keeping me from getting on with my life."

"Good for you," Jen says. "You need me to do anything in Boston?"

"Yeah. Go to my apartment. In the drawer to the left of this sink, you'll find something."

"That sounds ominous."

"It's not. You'll like it. Just…don't ask questions. Keep it."

"Illegal money?" Jen asks, excited.

"Not exactly. Just go look."

"I definitely will. Have fun."

"I won't, but I appreciate the sentiment all the same."

"Good. Bye, Rory."

"Bye, Jen." Rory snaps her cell shut and throws it lightly onto the desk. Her eyes drift to the window and her lips purse as she thinks about all the illicit encounters she had there. Frowning, Rory curls into a ball and gazes blankly out the glass with sad eyes. In her mind's eye, she can see that dark head approaching, contrasting with the lacy curtains as he ducks inside.

A random thought crosses Rory's mind, and she gets up off the bed to go investigate. Sure enough, in the freezer is some Ben and Jerry's ice cream. Rory slides a spoon out of the drawer and takes the ice cream to the couch to watch TV again. She's sick of thinking.

A couple of hours later, in the middle of the E! True Hollywood story on the making of _Jaws_, Lorelai comes barreling through the door, arms loaded. "Hey! What are you watching?" Rory knows better than to answer. "Oh, that's a good one. Damn mechanical shark." Lorelai tilts her head and watches for a moment before continuing into the kitchen. "Sookie made you a cake," Lorelai calls. "Coffee beans and fudge," she adds.

"Great," Rory says, trying to muster some enthusiasm.

"Michel was his usual unexcited self, but what can you do? Rune asked if you'd come in some day and help him dust, but of course, I said, 'No, she's here on _vacation_,' which prompted a very long conversation as to when he would get vacation. Now, Miss Patty said she wanted to throw you a party, but I thought I'd clear it with you first." When she gets no reply, Lorelai strides into the living room. "Hon?"

"I don't want a party," Rory says bleakly, her eyes still on the screen.

"Okay," Lorelai says, returning to the kitchen. "I'll tell Miss Patty. Babette will probably be in here in a matter of minutes, and Grandma and Grandpa will insist on seeing you, because you can't come home without a certain amount of torture."

Rory just looks at the TV.

"Well, I'm going to change," Lorelai says, looking worriedly at Rory. "I'll be back down in a minute, and we can make some popcorn and order pizza and watch _Space Mutiny_. How does that sound?"

"I'm not sixteen," Rory finally says.

"I know that," Lorelai replies.

"I'm not the same person, Mom. These people are expecting sweet little innocent Rory, and that's just not who I am."

"Honey, they know you've changed."

"It's more than that, Mom. These people used to be my life, but they're just—you know what, never mind."

"Okay," Lorelai says, haltingly heading up the stairs.

"And Mom?"

"Hmm?"

"This isn't my first breakup. You don't have to keep trying to cheer me up."

"You look like you need it. All breakups are tough."

"I was expecting it, okay? I'm fine."

"So that's why you're chomping down ice cream in front of the TV." Lorelai's voice is dry.

"I like ice cream," Rory says defensively.

"You're still a little bit sixteen." Lorelai clomps up the stairs, not wanting or needing a response. Rory pulls her blanket tighter around her and feels the tears pool in her eyes. Her mother is right, of course: Rory is still sixteen, deep down. She's still sensitive and skittish and unfamiliar with the ways of the world. All this time, she'd been fooling herself into thinking that she had a mature handle on life when really, she is just as naive as when she started out into the world. The thought puts her over the edge, and Rory lets the first truly despondent tears of the breakup pour down her cheeks.

When Lorelai comes downstairs, she says nothing, just puts a pillow on her lap and lets Rory cry, like old times. Lorelai cradles Rory's head and rocks her gently back and forth as the E! announcer tells them that Rank is up next. Sniffling, Rory says, "Mom?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have any more ice cream?"

Lorelai gingerly moves Rory's head. "I picked some up in Doose's," Lorelai says, going into the kitchen. A gallon of ice cream emerges with her when she returns.

"Thanks," Rory says, sitting up, brandishing her spoon.

"Sure thing," says Lorelai, draping her arm around Rory. "Whaddya say? I've got _Space Mutiny_, _The Princess Bride_,_ Love Story_, and _Breakfast at Tiffany's_."

"_The Princess Bride_," Rory says, thankful for her mother's instincts and foresight. 

"As you wish," Lorelai jokes, standing. Instantly, Rory's face slackens into a deeper frown as she recalls the other person who said those words to her. His face flashes before her in place of Wesley's, and before she can stop them, another bout of tears is upon her. "Oh, sweetie," Lorelai says sadly, plugging the video in. "Just pretend you're Buttercup."

Two hours later, Luke arrives home to find Rory and Lorelai in a bundle on the couch watching _Love Story_. "Ahem," he says from behind.

"Hi, honey," Lorelai says, not turning.

"I've got coffee."

"Good. Set it on the table?"

Luke crosses in front of the couch and catches a glimpse of Rory's sad, tear-stained face. His eyes flicker to Lorelai to try to ascertain what's wrong, but she just shakes her head. "Well, I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."

"Okay," Lorelai says.

At eleven, Lorelai creeps upstairs into their bedroom. Rory is asleep on the couch, all cried out and entirely miserable.

"Hey," Luke says, sitting up in bed.

Lorelai crawls in next to him and settles into the crook of his arm. "I'm so glad I'm done with breakups."

"Poor kid," Luke says. "That doctor?"

"Yeah," Lorelai sighs. "He seemed okay, too."

"Well, so did Dean."

"Dean _was_ okay," Lorelai argues.

"Dean hurt her."

"Rory hurt him," Lorelai points out, taking her usual stance in the age-old argument.

Luke just sighs. "How long can she stay?"

"She never said." Lorelai nestles even closer. "I'm so glad she's home."

Softly, Luke kisses the top of her head. "I know."

Downstairs, Rory awakens on the couch, mildly confused. She recalls, finally, that she is in Stars Hollow, on her mother's couch. Feeling pathetic, Rory stands and stretches and goes into her bedroom. Rolling over, she notices something she had failed to before. On the nightstand is a picture in a plain wooden frame. They are sitting on the porch swing, his arm around her, her head on his shoulder. Her eyes are focused on him adoringly. Rory is too tired to cry, so she just rolls over with something that feels like a paperweight in her stomach.

She stares at the window, longing for something to happen. In the reflection of the glass, every boyfriend she's ever had flickers past. She can see their hurt eyes as she breaks up with them, telling them without looking at them that it's not working, that they're wonderful but she's looking for something different. Someone different.

Upstairs, she can hear Luke and Lorelai murmuring softly to one another, a _piano_ melodic exchange. She wants that. The question is, can she ever let herself get that? Lorelai had to shed years of oblivion, had to forget Max and Chris and everyone else in order to be happy with Luke. Rory doesn't know if she can forget everything and just let herself be happy. 

Everyone says that she and her mother are nearly identical, but Rory has never thought so. The reason that they work so well together is the fact that they are nearly complete opposites. Lorelai, so happy-go-lucky, is able to dedicate herself to passing whims, able to put everything out of her mind and just focus. But not Rory. Rory is always preoccupied with something. Her brain is always muddled with thoughts, working a thousand miles a minute. Some days, she is shocked that it doesn't make noise.

Outside, there is no noise. It's almost distracting to Rory, this lack of noise. She misses the noise of the city, the comforting din. All she can hear is the mellifluous midnight conversation of Luke and Lorelai. She rolls over.


	3. I've Got to See You Again

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The Wurlitzer Prize

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Part Three: I've Got to See You Again

****

Dedications: To the usual suspects: **emrie**, without whom you'd be reading a miserable fic, **Kate**, who provides endless support and entertainment, **Chris** because she doesn't suck, and **AvidTVFan** for reminding me of my updating duties.

****

Author's Note: I really, really appreciate all the reviews. I love reading your thoughts and criticism. Keep them coming, please.

The next three days are a blur of old familiar people. Rory recalls the rhythm of conversation in this small town and easily slips back into being the small-town princess. It's a kind of kitsch-y entertainment to talk to these loveably crazy people again. Miss Patty, who if she could, would be a nymphomaniac, Babette, whose voice alone could cut through baked-on grease, Kirk, who never gets a break, Taylor, who really _needs_ a break, all these oddballs Rory grew up with.

On Wednesday night, Luke comes home early from work. He looks harried. Rory observes him as he comes in the door; he looks just like he used to, with a little more gray here and there. He still wears the same flannel and cap, still has the same swagger, still looks as intimidating as before. Looking up, he notices her on the couch. "Hey," he says.

"Hi."

Luke hesitates for a moment, then sits next to Rory. She curls her legs under herself and watches him intently. "Ah—look." Luke pauses, uncomfortable and out of his league. He clears his throat. "Have a good time today?" he finally asks.

Rory shrugs, wondering what he's leading up to. "It was okay. Miss Patty dropped by and tried to enroll me in her nude yoga class."

Luke's face crinkles. "Nude yoga?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"That's a sight for hallucinating eyes."

They're both silent for a while. Rory finally asks, "Luke, is there something you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Ah." He looks at her briefly. "I think I know why you're here." When Rory says nothing, he continues, "Your mom still thinks it's that Michael guy, but I think it might be something—uh, someone—else."

"Like who?" Rory murmurs, her throat tight.

"Jess," Luke says point-blank. Rory's eyes go wide and her throat closes completely. No one has uttered the name in her hearing in years.

"Oh," she says in a small voice.

Luke doesn't ask her if this is true. He sits, trying to formulate something to say, but he's never been good at comforting or relationships. For a long while, the two sit, absorbed in their thoughts, interrupted when Lorelai crashes through the door.

"Luke?" she calls. "Your truck—" She stumbles into the living room. "Your truck's out front," she finishes. "Okay, what's going on? You two look like you're at a funeral." When she again gets no noise from either of them, she says, "Oh God you are. Luke, I didn't think you were _serious_ about killing my coffee grinder. Please tell me we're giving it a respectable burial." Neither Luke nor Rory says anything. "For the love of God you two, what's wrong?"

Luke looks tersely at Rory. "Nothing." He stands and goes into the kitchen. Lorelai and Rory can hear pots and pans bang as Luke prepares to make dinner.

"Did something happen?" Lorelai queries, sitting in Luke's vacant spot.

"No," Rory says flatly.

"Really? 'Cause you two didn't look so great."

"We're fine!" Rory cries, standing. "Quit joking!" She storms out of the room and into her own, shutting the door with an angry bang.

Lorelai sits on the couch and blinks for a moment, confused. She gets up and goes to Luke, who's cooking burgers on the stove. "What in the hell happened?" she demands, hand on her hip.

"Nothing _happened_."

"Oh, that's why Rory just stomped out of the living room like Barbara Streisand."

"Guess so," Luke says non-committally.

"Why won't anyone tell me anything?"

"It's not my thing to tell," Luke says.

"So there is a thing."

"If there were a thing, it wouldn't be mine to tell," Luke backtracks, flipping the three patties.

Lorelai purses her lips and walks the short distance to Rory's door. "Rory?" she asks, knocking lightly. Rory doesn't answer, so Lorelai slips inside. "Rory?" she asks the ball on the bed.

"What?"

"What was the big production?"

"There was no 'big production'," Rory says sullenly.

"Well, it was no Superbowl, but Probowl at least."

Sighing raggedly, Rory twists around again, ignoring Lorelai.

"Luke said it was your thing to tell."

"It is," Rory says coldly.

"So tell?"

"Just because it's my thing to tell doesn't mean I want to tell it," Rory says.

Lorelai sits on the edge of the bed. "You're more than a little sixteen."

Rory stands up suddenly. "So what if I am? It's better to me 'more than a little sixteen' at twenty-five than to be twelve at forty-one."

"Excuse me?" Lorelai says.

"You heard me." Rory crosses her arms and stares out the window.

"Oh," Lorelai mutters.

"'Oh' what?"

"I get it now."

"Get what?"

"This whole coming-home thing. This isn't about Michael." Lorelai pauses for dramatic effect. "This is about Jess."

Rory's eyes flash, but she doesn't deny it.

"You're pulling a _High Fidelity_."

"Oh, come on."

"I am. You're going to get over Jess and move on. Self-prescribed therapy."

"So now you're the New Age Freud?"

"It won't work, Rory." Lorelai shakes her head.

"And just what is that?"

"Dinner!" Luke calls through the door, accompanied by a clinking of dishes on the scarred wooden table.

Lorelai just stares at Rory for another moment before rising and stalking out of the room, leaving Rory alone with the musty smell of an argument full of memories.

Half an hour later, there's another knock on Rory's door. She's sprawled on her bed, trying to keep her mind as blank as possible. "What?"

Luke enters, bearing a plate with a burger on it. "Thought you might like some supper."

"Not hungry." Rory wraps her arms around her stomach and turns away from Luke.

"Your mom said you guys had a fight."

"It wasn't a fight."

"Okay." Standing, Luke starts to walk to the door. Halfway there, he spies the picture of Rory and Jess. Rory has moved it to her bookcase, wedged between some meaningless trinkets. "Rory, I think it's a good idea."

"What?"

"Talking to him."

"Oh." Using her elbow for help, Rory rolls over to face Luke. He's staring awkwardly at her bookcase.

"But, you know…" Luke trails off, wondering how to phrase this. "Jess can be kind of—you know, stubborn."

"Don't I know it," Rory mutters darkly.

"Talking to him is your choice. Straightening out…whatever happened between you two is probably good and all, but I don't want you to get hurt all over again."

"I won't."

"Well, just think about it." He doesn't look at her as he gently closes the door behind him.

Rory sits up. She stretches, extending each limb to its limit, reaching for unreachable points in the air. Feeling looser, she heaves herself off of the bed and extracts the picture from its prison on her bookcase. Staring into his face, she recalls their last fight, namely his hurtful words. Maybe, she thinks, Luke is right. Maybe he's just going to cause me more pain than the first time. Maybe I'm just setting myself up to be hurt.

In her mind's eye, Rory sees Michael, sitting at the table, his face crumpled with defeat. She sees all of her boyfriends, some serious, some not, as she breaks up with them. In their eyes, she sees a little of the misery Jess caused her. She wonders if Jess' girlfriends go through the same things; she wonders if she hurt Jess at all. 

And she knows. She has to find out. What if she'd been going through this all these years and Jess felt nothing? It infuriates her, and she starts throwing things into her suitcase again. Time to stop being sixteen, she thinks.

Rory knows she will not be able to sleep tonight. Whipping out her cell phone, she calls work, requesting her two weeks vacation time, which the night clerk writes down without comment. At Jen's she gets the answering machine and tells it not to expect her home for a little while.

Luke and Lorelai are in the living room, watching television. The expression on Luke's face is pained, and Rory quickly glances at the screen. Lorelai has turned on _The Anna Nicole Show_ and is gleefully singing along to the theme song. When she makes herself known, Luke looks up at her expectantly. "Do you have his address?" Rory asks.

Luke gives her a hard look. After a minute, he disentangles himself from Lorelai and brushes past Rory to get into the kitchen. "You're doing it, huh?" Lorelai asks, muting the commercials.

"I need to."

"Okay," Lorelai nods. "You know you can call us if you need anything."

"I know."

"I've got some arsenic in the kitchen, if you think that'll be helpful."

"No, I'm good." Rory leans against the doorjamb. "Which episode is this?"

"Dentist—ooh!" Lorelai squeals, turning the sound back on. Anna's aggravating voice grates on Rory's ears. Luke returns and hands her a slip of paper with a hastily scrawled address. With Anna in the background, he gives her a tight hug and whispers something in her ear. Rory feels tears pool in her eyes and smiles bittersweetly. She gives a wave to her mother, then picks up her partially-filled suitcase in her room and leaves through the back door.

It's easy to obtain a bus ticket in Stars Hollow, even at eight in the evening. Kirk is selling them tonight. "New York?"

"Yes."

"Dangerous city," Kirk says, ringing up the sale. "You shouldn't go with a purse. I always strap my money to my waist."

"With one of those waist-pouches?"

"No, with packing tape. It's much more secure. A little tough to get off, but you get used to the pain." Kirk counts her change into her hand. "Have a safe trip."

"Uh, thanks," Rory says, putting the money into her purse. She sits on the sole bench in the Stars Hollow bus station, staring at the wall. There are no people milling around as they should be; there's just an eerie silence under the chafing sounds of Kirk shuffling papers and the grind of the heater. Rory plays with her feet, making nonsense patterns on the floor. The quiet is irritating; it gives her too much freedom to think about where she's going, why she's going there, and who she'll see there. After what seems like forever, a high-pitched, drawn-out squeal lets Rory know that the bus is here. Without a look back at Stars Hollow through the bus station windows, Rory climbs on.

There are only four people on the bus, so Rory retreats to the back corner where she leans against the dark window and removes a book. The only one that had looked appetizing at the house was The World According to Garp by John Irving. It's quirky enough to keep her attention; right now, she can't handle the slow, drawn-out, symbolic books that are usually her forte.

The bus ride doesn't take long. All too soon, Rory is in New York, as confused as when she was seventeen. "You're still a little bit sixteen," echoes in her head; she shoves it to the back of her mind and hoists her suitcase off the ground. For the second time in three days, she finds herself standing on the edge of the road, clutching a suitcase like the Little Match Girl would hold her match.

Again, her cabbie speaks little English. Rory listens to the swish of the puddles under the tires and plays games with herself, trying to guess how many stories the buildings are. The angles she's seated at won't allow her to see the tops of some of the tallest ones. It feels like being a very small child again.

The hotel isn't fancy. It's a run-of-the-mill hotel: clean, with few amenities. Rory sits quietly on the edge of the bed for some time and looks out the rain-drenched window. Rain appears to be her new best friend—or maybe her new shadow; it follows her everywhere. It's ten by now, and most of the franticness of the city has subsided. Switching the light on with a sharp click, Rory rolls on her side and opens Garp.

She must have fallen asleep. When she opens her eyes, there is offensive sunlight hitting her retinas, and Rory stomps across the room to shut the curtains. The internal clock she's developed for work refuses to let her sleep peacefully beyond eight A.M. Resigned, Rory starts the difficult task of dressing.

Does she want to see Jess now, first thing in the morning? Would it be best to get it over with? Probably, Rory decides. After all, she does not want to spend another day—even a few more hours—wallowing and contemplating. She selects a pair of nice slacks and plain button-up blouse. A look in the mirror tells her that she looks too mannered. Discarding those clothes, she picks out a pair of jeans and striped knit shirt with some old sneakers. Good. It looks spontaneous. It looks like she hasn't been thinking about coming for months now.

Downstairs, they offer free coffee, which should have been Rory's first clue. She fills a Styrofoam cup, but it's far from palatable. Rory manages not to spit it out, but throws it away at the first opportunity. Her first mission will be to get some decent coffee.

Just down the street, there's a promising place. Rory ducks inside and orders from a college girl who is pretentiously made-up. She flirts the order to the college guy making the coffee, who takes a split second too long to hand it back to her. With an annoyed expression on her face, Rory snatches the coffee from the girl and thrusts a five at her. Is the entire world in love?

It's chilly outside, but Rory has forgotten her coat at the hotel. She knows if she goes back, she may never get the courage to start out again. So, with her arms wrapped around her torso, Rory trudges through the mass of pedestrians toward Jess' apartment. It occurs to her that she could just get a cab, but something about the trek there appeals to her. It's almost as though she's making a religious pilgrimage. 

Too soon, she's there. She stands shivering at the bottom of the building, looking up; wondering which one is his. There's no blinking neon lights advertising his home, so she opens the front door and enters a tiny foyer. Like her building, there's no front desk to greet visitors, just an elevator. Rory looks unnecessarily at the crumpled scrap of paper in her hand. She already knew it was 7B, but looking at it again made it truer.

The elevator is creaky, and Rory dimly fears plummeting to the basement. She's far too worried about her upcoming encounter with Jess to take the fantasy farther, though. All of a sudden, it seems, she's right outside his door. It's plain green, chipped in places, especially near the bottom, where Rory imagines it was kicked. The florescent light overhead buzzes, partially burned out. Along with the sunlight breaking through the dirt caked on the window at the end of the hall, it creates a ghostly glow.

His knocker is fake brass. The finish has flaked off in most places, leaving a dull silver color in its place. Rory hesitantly bangs it against the fake-brass plate and holds her breath, waiting to see him. The door swings open and Rory nearly faints. But Jess is not on the other side.

"Yeah?" the strange man asks.

"Oh—hi. Hi."

"Hi," he says suspiciously.

"Is Jess here? Jess—Jess Mariano?"

"He's out."

"Oh." Rory bites her lip. "Do you know when he'll be back?"

"Should be about ten minutes." The abrupt man looks over his shoulder into the apartment. "You wanna wait in here?"

Rory shifts her eyes as she considers. What if Jess doesn't really live here? What if this man is some crazy rapist? What if she is being invited into Buffalo Bill's successor's lair? "I'll just…wait out here."

"Sure." The man shuts the door without another glance and Rory stands clumsily outside the door. She looks out of place. Finally, after about five minutes, Rory just gives up and sat down. Her back slides against the grimy wall, scritching slightly. She draws her knees up to her chest, formulating what to do in her head if a madman came and attacked her. "Break his collarbone!" Jen always says. For some odd reason, between her men, Jen is consumed with the desire to read self-defense books written by die-hard feminists. Hence, Rory knows that it only takes twenty-five pounds of force to break the collarbone.

"Rory?"

Her name makes her head jerk up like a student caught sleeping on his desk. "Yes," she says automatically. Her breath catches when she realizes that she's looking into Jess' eyes. "Hi," she says, her voice breathy as she struggles pathetically to stand up.

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh. Well, I was just…walking," Rory says, floundering. Her hands are shaking slightly, the tiny piece of paper making crinkling sounds. "Walking, you know, around here, and I thought I'd just…stop by…"

"You live in Boston," Jess says neutrally.

"I—well, yeah, but I was on a trip."

"Ah." The two stand there for a minute. Rory nervously crosses her arms in front of her. God, she's making a fool of herself. "Nick Hornby," Jess says, out of the blue.

"What?"

"You're doing the Nick Hornby thing. I'm Charile."

Rory huffs. Her mother, now Jess, seeing right through her. "No," Rory says stubbornly. "I just thought I'd stop by."

"Right," Jess says dryly. He looks at his door, as though longing for escape.

Now she's here. He's standing right in front of her. She has the opportunity to ask him anything—anything at all, but nothing refuses to spill past her lips. With her mouth, she makes tiny motions, trying to form some words. "I broke up with Michael," comes spewing out. Mentally, she whacks herself. 

"Huh." Jess looks confused and impatient.

"Yeah." Rory takes a deep breath. She knows there's no way of stopping this tirade that's about to come flowing out of her mouth. "He's, like, my tenth boyfriend in four years. Everyone thought he'd be, you know, _the one_. My best friend has been planning the wedding. She had the colors down and everything. I never really saw the point in picking out wedding colors—I mean, white and black, right? But she's kind of into that stuff. Romantic at heart."

"Rory, look, if there's a point, can we just get to it now? I'm in a hurry."

"Oh—sure." Rory bites her lip. What might her point be? "You hurt me," she finally mutters.

Jess rolls his eyes and slides the key in the lock. "Nice chatting with you."

Rory purses her lips and slips closer to him. "So you can't even spare ten minutes?"

"Not now." Jess opens the door and steps inside. "I'm busy."

"You always were," Rory concedes. She steps away from the door, awkwardly putting her hands on her thighs to keep from fidgeting. 

"Hey, look, don't come seeking me out and then attacking me for things I did _in the past_."

"Things _in the past_ aren't just swept under the rug, Jess."

"The whole point of breaking up is that they are, Rory. I know this might be a new thing for you, but when relationships end, so does most interaction between the two parties."

"That's not true," Rory argues. "Just because I'm not kissing you anymore doesn't mean I shouldn't see you anymore. And the things you did _in the past_, the ones that were supposed to be swept under the rug? It was my rug."

"Your rug."

"Yes, my rug! The one in my apartment that has a big lump under from all the crummy things—"

"Stop," Jess says, boredly. "Look, you wanna analyze the demise of your relationship skills? Ask my mother. Ask your mother. But don't come crying to me about your tenth boyfriend in four years."

"That's just like you. Blame it on someone else."

"And what are you doing?"

"Hey, at least I'm trying to right my wrongs."

"You're trying to right _my_ wrongs."

Rory shakes her head. "I should have known this wouldn't work. Stupid!" She bends and retrieves her purse from the floor. "Have a nice day." Without waiting for a rejoinder from Jess, she walks down the hall, her pace brisk. There are tears streaming down her face, like the rain on the window last night.

It is night. Rory wanders down the street, looking for entertainment. There's a band playing just down the block, loud punk rock blaring into the street. It appeals to Rory, its roughness singing out to her like a beacon.

Inside, there are people with studs, people in black, people with hair colors not found in nature, much less many Crayola boxes. Rory feels instantly out of place, but she doesn't care. The music in its brashness sounds good to her ears. Its pulsating, crass beats hurt her eardrums, but she doesn't care. She weaves through the crowd, trying to find a place to sit and listen to the harsh music.

The only place offering seating is the bar. Rory thinks for a moment, then sits down. She has only had one experience with drinking. It was her senior year of college and she and Jen, after exams, decided they'd go out for a few drinks. Jen kept talking, Rory kept drinking, and before she knew it, she and Jen were standing in the hallway of Jen's apartment building, turkey-bowling. Rory shakes her head at the bar; that, if nothing else, would certainly teach her moderation.

"Virgin strawberry daiquiri," she tells the bartender, who nods mutely.

The club is pulsating with people thrashing their heads to the music, moving their bodies in tandem. It is fascinating to watch—these people so close to one another, yet so far apart. Idly, Rory sips her daiquiri, enjoying the bass vibrating in her glass.

"Stalking me?" someone hollers into her ear.

Rory whips around to see Jess. "Of course," she mumbles to her drink. It stares back at her reproachfully. "I'll leave," she screams at Jess, digging through her purse for a five while trying to simultaneously down the remainder of her drink.

Jess lays a five on the bar. "I got it," he mouths to her.

Rory blinks. Since when did he feel so benevolent? "That's okay," she says awkwardly, still rooting for a five. All she can find are three singles and a twenty.

"Come on," he yells into her ear, then turns and starts walking out of the club. Rory looks back at the head-thrashers, wishing, just for a moment, to be in such a group. They look as though they have lost all sense of reality, and that's just what she needs. She looks the other way, and sees Jess' back. Her head swivels between the two possibilities, but like the good girl she is, Rory chooses real life. She follows Jess.


	4. My Paper Heart

****

The Wurlitzer Prize

****

Dedications: Once again, to **emrie** for being the world's best beta and a really cool person to boot. To **Kate** because she needs it. To **Chris** because she rocks. And to **Hadar** for graciously taking the post of head sucker.

****

Author's Note: Thank you to all my reviewers. I like hearing what people have to say about this piece. (Hint, hint).

Part Four: My Paper Heart

It's cool outside, that amorphous time of year where it's not still summer but not quite fall. Rory and Jess walk side by side on the misty sidewalks. Jess' hands are casually stuffed in his pockets; Rory's, defensively crossed across her torso.

"So," Jess says, stopping at the street corner. "You wanna get some coffee?"

"Sure." Rory is still confused. She wonders how he saw her in the dim, loud crowd and why he bothered to shout above the cacophony to get her attention. After today, after the scene at his apartment, she was sure he hated her. Instead of doing what she always does—assume and speculate and wind herself into a tired spiral of maybes—she asks him. "Why?"

"Why coffee? I was under the impression you liked it."

"Why did you seek me out?"

"Why did _you_ seek _me_ out?"

"I asked you first," Rory retorts, feeling as though she's in first grade, standing by the swings with Meghan Buette.

Jess shrugs non-committally. Rory remembers she hated this when they dated—that quick, sharp jab of the shoulders as her only answer always frustrated her. 

"No, really, why?"

"Thought you had something to say to me."

"And you cared?" Rory asks incredulously.

"Oh, great. Guilt trip number two." Jess rolls his eyes.

"Not guilt trip number two. Just an honest question."

"You really wanna know, Rory?"

"Would I have asked otherwise?"

"I wanted to resolve this and move on. I really don't want to wonder what on Earth it was that you had to say to me when I'm thirty-five."

"So, basically, it's a get-rid-of-Rory tactic."

"Pretty much."

"Oh." Rory stares at the pavement as she walks, noting how her shoeprints stay for a second, then disappear into the gray. She's always liked snow more than rain; it's more permanent. There's almost a guarantee that when she wakes up in the morning, her footsteps will be exactly where she left them. Snow has a history.

"Here okay?"

Rory looks up to see that they are stopped at an anonymous coffee shop in the Fifties somewhere. "Great," she says dispassionately.

Inside, it's plain and clean. Rory and Jess pick a window table; Rory gets the creeping feeling that she can escape if necessary and wonders if Jess is thinking the same thing. They both order black house brews and wait for their orders in silence. Only the warm buzz of the lights and the muted chatter of the other patrons wafts between them. She is reminded of a similar dinner not so long ago.

"What is it." Jess doesn't say it as a question as he sips his coffee.

Rory's eyes slowly rise up to his face. There is no life in his voice; he sounds resigned and exhausted. A spark ignites in the pit of Rory's stomach to imagine that she has done that to him. Maybe she's done _something_ to him. "Did I do something to you?" she blurts out.

Jess raises his eyebrows. "Like…?"

"Did I hurt you?"

When he exhales profoundly, Jess' top lip wavers slightly. Rory has the sudden urge to kiss him, but remembers that it would likely be frowned upon. "Rory…" He shakes his head and sighs, but says no more.

"Have you just moved on?" Rory is embarrassed at the pleading, childish tone in her voice, but refuses to back down. "I mean—"

"It took a while," Jess interrupts, looking into his coffee.

"How long is a while?"

"A while is a vague number that's less than an eternity and more than a nanosecond."

"Thanks," Rory says sarcastically.

There's a long silence, though it's not terribly awkward. "So what happened?"

"What?" Rory asks, snapping her attention away from the girl with the purple umbrella.

"To spark this journey-through-my-past thing."

Rory shifts her eyes down to the coffee cup and watches her hand as it swirls the straw in the black drink. "I got jewelry."

"A certain circularly-shaped piece of jewelry?"

"Almost." Rory doesn't particularly feel like sharing the entire Michael experience with Jess. She gets the feeling that he wouldn't feel much sympathy for her predicament. "What about you?"

"No jewelry as of yet."

Rolling her eyes, Rory glares at him. "I gathered that. I meant your current…coupling status."

"Involved."

"Ah."

"You?" he asks, although his voice holds little curiosity.

"Not anymore," she says, miffed at his impersonal questioning.

"Hmm." Jess drains his cup then looks longingly at the door. "Anything else?"

Rory's eyes almost tear at the curt dismissal. Though he hasn't answered her question directly, she has figured it out; Jess is no more hurt by their relationship than steel is by a pillow. "No. Thanks." She throws some money on the table and, without looking at him, carefully exits the café. 

It's late, and cabs are getting fewer and farther between. Rory is frightened to walk more than a few feet away from the safe light of the coffee shop, so she stops at the curb. Jess stands next to her and bows his head, studying the pavement or his shoes. "Sorry."

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Everything."

"Don't bother apologizing. It's over now," Rory says with shortness in her tone, aping his voice in the coffee shop.

"Then don't bother analyzing. It's over now."

Angry, Rory faces him. "That's like saying, 'Stop analyzing that book; you're done with it.' Apologizing after the fact—and insincerely—is way different."

"Whatever."

But Rory is like a train; she gains momentum with every remark. "And 'whatever' is _not_ an answer! It's two meaningless syllables."

"There's a cab," Jess interjects, pointing.

"God, can't you ever just answer a question?!"

"Fine!" Jess explodes. "Of course I was hurt! All right? You happy? I just happened to be able to _get over it_ and move on!"

"Are you saying that I can't move on?"

"Hey, which one of us is standing many miles from their home?"

"I shouldn't have come," Rory says, looking down and wagging her head. "God, everyone told me not to."

"Still protected at age twenty-five?" Jess asks snidely.

"Still acting like a _teenager_ at age twenty-five?"

"Wait a minute. You come _barging_ into New York and demand that I answer some bullshit self-validation questions and you're bitching about the way I act?"

"Yeah, I'd say that's about accurate," Rory snarls, not giving him the satisfaction of a flounce.

"Unbelievable." Jess turns and starts walking away.

"There's one thing that's stayed consistent," Rory yells to his retreating back. "You always were good at walking away."

She's struck a nerve. Jess whips around and walks back to her. "You were always good at pushing me away."

"Bullshit! You were good at _imagining_ that I pushed you away."

"Who would just clam up?"

"You did it too!"

"Not when it was important."

"Oh no?"

"No!"

"Sure, Jess. You were Mr. Share-Your-Feelings."

"And you were my cousin, Ms. Avoid-All-That-Might-Require-Discussion."

Another cab swishes down the street; Rory hails it. "This was a mistake."

"No kidding."

"I hope what's-her-name can stand you."

"I hope you find someone to even be called what's-his-name."

Rory leans into the cab without another word. Jess walks the other way with nary a parting glance. As the cab moves toward her hotel, Rory feels completely depleted. She lets her head loll against the rough seatback and listens to the hissing sound of the puddles under the tires and imagines The House of Mirth to help her calm down. Things can always be Lily Bart worse.

Her bleak hotel room does little to soothe her. Rory pulls out Garp and curls up in the mildly uncomfortable chair in the corner. The only illumination in the room is the ellipsis of light from the lamp. She looks like an island in her chair, the darkness swallowing the room like an ocean.

Rory can't concentrate. Her mind continually wanders back to the bitter, harsh conversation, the words echoing in her mind like bad bass on a stereo. Her head droops forward and her hand catches it, putting the pads of her fingers on the side of her forehead. Jess' angry accusations and her own cold sarcasm seem to be loud enough in her mind for the whole hotel to hear. The words build to a furious crescendo before Rory throws her book across the room and stands so quickly that she is momentarily dizzy. For a second, she is completely disoriented, wondering if she can stand. When she knows that she can, she walks over to the nightstand and flips her cell phone open, grateful for the lighted keypad. She can't handle the reality of light now.

"Jen?" she asks when her best friend answers.

"Rory? Hey, what's up?"

"Oh, uh, not much. I did the delve-through-the-past bit. I think I'll be back in town tomorrow."

"Wait. That's all you're gonna say?"

"Well…I was going to say that I found a pretty decent band."

"About the delve-through-your-past thing. That's all you're going to say?"

"Yup."

"Oh, no. No you don't. First, you just skip town without telling me first, go home, then leave me a _message_ and skip off to—God, where are you? Stars Hollow?"

"No, New York."

"And you didn't take me with?"

"You have no vacation time."

"I'll take sick days!"

Rory laughs. "You don't have any of those, either."

"Damn." Jen thinks. "Okay, but I need details! I'm not going to get out of work for the rest of the year, at least keep me happy!"

"Not tonight, Jen. I just wanted to let you know I'm okay."

"Nuh-uh. Something happened."

"Like what?"

"Sometime having to do with the delve-through-your-past thing. I can tell."

"How?"

"Well, one, it's about twelve-thirty and you would never call this late, but you obviously haven't been paying enough attention to look at the time, which means that you're upset."

"Whoa." Rory's eyes are wide in the dark. "That was spooky."

"I know you. Now come on, cough it up."

"Oh, Jen, it was awful," Rory sits on the edge of the bed and puts her head in her hand again. "Just terrible."

"I could have told you it was going to be miserable."

"Everybody could have. I should have listened."

"That's true," Jen says calmly. "Now what happened?"

"You're like a heartless reporter."

"I missed my calling." Jen is sensitively silent.

"We just yelled at each other," Rory says softly, a tear dripping down her face. The tilt makes a strange path for the droplet, and it lingers on the tip of her nose. Rory doesn't brush it away. Jen says nothing. "I thought it would be different."

"Oh, honey," Jen says sympathetically. Rory can almost feel the coolly comforting touch of Jen's pale hand as it passes a coffee cup to her.

"I just want to be home."

"You're coming tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm coming home tomorrow," Rory reiterates, her voice growing stronger.

"Good."

"Yes."

"Hang in there, Rory. No one has a perfect breakup."

"I just wish it didn't have to be _so_ messy."

"Well, what happened in the end?"

The question is spoken so offhandedly; Rory is blindsided. It has been years since she's allowed herself to think about the final moments, the last words exchanged between herself and Jess, other than "It's yours, take it."

The scene erupts in her head in tiny fragments, in frames from a poorly edited indie film. There wasn't a final big blowout; she and Jess didn't exchange loud words and he didn't storm out. That wasn't his style. Jess never yelled much.

The first frame that jerks through her head is from days before the end. 

__

He is lying in bed, watching television; she has just come home from class, anxious to get out of her dress clothes from the mock reporting exercises. With vivid clarity, the sharpness of a high definition TV set, Rory can recall sliding her shoes off and kicking them haphazardly in the closet. In her mind's eye, she sees her hand trail up her skirt to pull off her pantyhose; the sharp sound of her zipper; the skirt's swift descent to the ground. Her fingers move deftly to undo the buttons of her Oxford blouse and she straightens her arms to let it glide off. She enjoys the feeling of the soft fabric skimming her arms.

Jess is in the exact same position when she turns around in her undergarments. He does not face her and she can see his disinterest lightened by the blue glare of the TV. "So there's this thing on Friday night," she says nonchalantly.

"Hmm," is all Jess says, his attention riveted on the television.

Frustrated at having to vie for his concentration with an inanimate object, Rory crosses the room and stands at the edge of the bed. He still does not look fully at her. Setting her face determinedly, Rory crawls on top of him and straddles his lap, blocking his view. "The thing on Friday night," she repeats.

Finally, Jess looks at her. "I don't want to go."

"Jess, I haven't even described it yet."

"Rory, I don't like these people. They all look at me like I'm vermin."

"How do you think they look at me when I show up for everything alone?"

"They don't care," Jess scoffs, shifting under her weight, trying to get comfortable.

"They do," Rory insists. "They think I'm making you up."

"So let them think it." Jess squirms again, readjusting his thighs under hers.

"Oh, yeah, Rory Gilmore, the schizophrenic. Let's hire her." Rory rolls her eyes. "Jess, it's just a few hours. Please?" she wheedles.

"They aren't my thing. If you're looking for an escort, go date a rich Princeton boy." Jess bends his arm and leans on his elbow, looking around the curve of her side.

Rory feels very cold and alone all of a sudden. She's nearly nude, sitting on her boyfriend's lap in a bed, but he's more engrossed in the "Seinfeld" rerun than her. The tears in her eyes make it seem like she's looking through antique wavy glass; Jess' face is blurry. All she can see is the light and dark, the ups and downs. Slowly, she slips off him and goes to her drawer to find some old, comfy pajamas. Jess does not change positions.

"Rory?" Jen asks, dragging her back to the present. "Maybe we'll talk when you get home."

"Yeah, maybe." 

"Okay…I'll see you tomorrow, then, right?"

"Right." Rory nods in the darkness, nods to the lonely light of the lamp in the corner. The next sound she hears is a dial tone. Jen is gone; it's just her and the lamp and the book, lying somewhere on the floor. Just her and her memories, wafting like smoke through the room. She can smell their acrid scent, feels them tickling her nose. Letting go, she flops back onto the pilled bedspread.

The smoke of another memory intermixes with the breath she breathes, making its way through her veins and to every capillary of her body. It's a happier memory but still feels dreary in light of recent events.

__

It's late; Rory should be home, but she knows that Lorelai won't be home herself for several more hours. They're in his car, the one she always makes fun of but is secretly grateful for. It's her escape, transportation to nearly anywhere. And it always means Jess will be there.

"So this guy's saying that Dickens' childhood didn't influence the way he wrote!" Jess exclaims in wonderment at the density of others.

"Right, and the Holocaust didn't influence Elie Wiesel." Rory rolls her eyes and Jess lifts his hand off the steering wheel for a moment to make an agreeing slap.

"Exactly. God, I can't believe someone could own a bookstore and not even like books."

"No one said he didn't like them. He just wasn't that bright."

"You have to be bright to a certain degree to like books. What's reading if you don't even take into account the author's life and times?"

"True," Rory says and leans her arm on the door. With the crank, she rolls the window down and lets the cooling summer air whistle through her hair. It's a gorgeous Connecticut night, clear and mild, with stars. She and Jess are out in the country, a detour on the way back from Hartford. By leaning her right jawbone in her hand, Rory has a good view of Jess as he focuses on the road. And she knows; it's time. "Pull off," she says suddenly.

Surprised, Jess looks at her and slowly veers to the right. "Are you sick?"

"I said off, not over," Rory demands, her voice calm and rational.

"Rory, if you're going to—"

"I'm not sick."

Jess blinks. In his face, Rory can see that realization is dawning on him. He deliberately pulls back on and searches for a side road. They find a narrow incision in the trees off to the left and take the bumpy ride to the end. Jess cuts the engine and nervously puts his hands flat on his thighs and breathes out profoundly.

Rory remembers her naivete in this branch of life and sits awkwardly, not know quite what to do with her hands or eyes. It's deathly quiet other than the sound of the wind now and then, intermittently making a soft rustle through the trees.

"Are you sure?" Jess asks quietly, looking at his hands.

"I'm sure," Rory whispers.

Jess slides over on the vinyl seat, his jeans making slithering noises against the cheap material. He carefully cups her cheek in his hand. "I don't think this is right." His voice is more gentle than she's ever heard it be before. "Your first time isn't supposed to be in a car."

"Says who?" Rory retorts, her voice shaking a little at his proximity.

"Decency."

"He doesn't know what he's talking about."

"Rory—"

"What's wrong with now? Luke isn't going to walk in, my mom won't walk in, no one from Stars Hollow can see us, even Taylor with his telescope…where doesn't matter…it's who…" Her voice trails away as Jess gradually descends on her mouth and presses harder on her cheek.

The last bits of her memory disperse into many parts of her and all Rory sees are miscellaneous flashes of flesh, a soft, sudden intake of breath, the moist slice of skin against skin.

Rory realizes her eyes are shut; when she opens them, she's greeted with the indifference of the impersonal hotel room. It's all very surreal to her; just a few days ago, she was a perfectly rational woman and now here she is, lying in a hotel room in an unfamiliar city, remembering things she's willed herself to forget.

The worst part is that Jess is not coming after her. They'd had many a fight where Rory stormed off, and Jess always followed. Now, of course, he has no idea where she's staying, not to mention to inclination to come. For one of the few times in her life, Rory feels tremors of loneliness shiver through her body.

Exhausted, she falls asleep dreaming of Jess.


	5. Maggie May

__

Chapter Five: Maggie May

****

Dedications: To the usual crowd: **emrie**, **Chris**, **Kate**, **Marissa**, and **HS**. Thanks, guys.

****

Author's Note: Thank you to my reviewers. I really appreciate feedback, for better or for worse.

As promised, Rory is back in Boston the next day. It's excruciating to get out of bed and go to work, but Rory does. Her head aches from exhaustion and stress. Her closet is nearly bare and she remembers that Luke and Lorelai still have a good amount of her wardrobe. Sighing, Rory stoops down and grabs some mildly rumpled clothing from the floor and the top of the hamper. As she makes coffee, she warms the iron up.

It doesn't really matter what her clothes look like, Rory thinks dismally over her French roast. She'll still be penned up in the same tiny cubicle, writing about the same unsubstantial stuff whether or not she wears snazzy clothes. 

The defiant sunniness of the day and her bitter contemplations have put Rory in a foul mood. She stomps into the office and storms past her usual sources of morning pleasantries. Today she is in no mood to exchange "how are you"s with the water cooler crowd.

Jen ducks into her cubicle fifteen minutes after Rory has arrived. "Hey, you."

Grumpy, Rory just nods and keeps pounding on her keyboard.

"So someone's in a happy mood today."

"I woke up and realized I had no clothes." Rory swivels in her seat to face Jen.

"When that happens to me, I go shopping."

"No, literally, no clothes. I left them all at my mom's house."

"Oh." Jen sidles onto the edge of Rory's desk. "So the mood has nothing to do with the delve-through-your-past bit?"

Rory glowers at her and returns to the computer.

"You doing anything tonight?"

"With my boyfriend?" Rory asks sarcastically.

"I meant, any intense wallowing?"

"No wallowing."

"So you're open to come over?"

"What about Scott?"

"He'll just have to find something to occupy his time elsewhere." Rory almost grins; even though she's neurotic about her boyfriends, Jen is the most loyal friend in the world.

"Thanks, Jen."

"Meet you by the front doors after work," Jen says and slips stealthily back into her cubicle. In a split second, she is replaced by Rory's boss.

"Miss Gilmore."

"Mr. Fraser."

He gestures to the computer. "Catching up?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"We didn't expect you back so soon."

"My vacation got…cut short."

"Great. Copy on my desk, no later than three."

"Sure."

Rory makes a face at his retreating back and stares blankly at her monitor. How did she get stuck with relationship help again? For God's sake, she's a Harvard-educated writer, writing Dear Abby mumbo-jumbo. It's ludicrous.

The day is finally over. Rory has long since handed her copy to her boss and has more or less stared into space, sadly daydreaming. At five, she gathers all her things together, ready to leave. She bypasses the water-cooler crowd again, bent on getting out of there. In truth, she's not sure if she wants to be with Jen tonight; what she really wants is time to sit by herself in the dark, listening to gloomy emo. But Jen's trying to make her feel better and Rory hopes that perhaps she can.

The two ride the subway to Jen's apartment in silence. For once, Jen knows that it's not the time to talk. Rory collapses on Jen's couch as she brings out coffee and day-old doughnuts.

"You wanna talk?" she asks, her mouth full of doughnut.

"No," Rory says flatly, staring at her pastry.

"Don't tell me you're starting an eating disorder too," Jen teases.

Rory makes an attempt to smile and stuffs the doughnut in her mouth as one might put a pillow in a pillowcase. Mechanically, she drinks her coffee and takes another bite. Jen looks at her sympathetically and inserts a tape into the VCR. "I have only one thing to say…just be glad you're not the drummer."

Instantly, Rory's face breaks into an overpowering smile. "_Spinal Tap_!" 

"I knew it!" Jen cries, pleased about making her friend smile.

They settle on the couch together, sharing Jen's hallowed wool blanket, shoulder to shoulder in the comical radiation of the TV screen.

*

It's five A.M. and Rory's telephone is ringing. Not even Jen would call at such an ungodly hour; Rory figures it must be Lorelai and weighs letting it just ring. After the _Spinal Tap/Monty Python_ party with Jen last night, Rory is beat, and she has to get up in an hour to get to work anyway. The ringing stops and Rory buries her face in her pillow with satisfaction. Five seconds later, the shrill dissonance cracks the air again and Rory knows her mother isn't giving up.

"It's five A.M.," Rory answers grumpily.

"I'm getting married!"

Rory squints. It's a surreal moment. It's five A.M., her apartment is completely still, with just the bravest of dust particles flickering through the air, and her mother is screaming that she's getting married.

"Well?" Lorelai demands, her voice ebullient.

"Wow," Rory says.

"That's it?"

"Mom, it's five. Give me a second." Rory takes a deep breath. The idea of her mother marrying Luke finally makes sense to her. "Mom, that's great!"

"You're coming, right?"

"Would I miss this?"

"Good, 'cause it's Saturday."

"What? Are you nuts? You can't plan a wedding in four days."

"It's going to be small. I'll wear jeans."

"Mom, you are not wearing jeans to your wedding."

"Luke's wearing flannel!"

"Mom, come on, think rationally. You cannot plan an entire wedding in four days."

"Oh, Rory, it's not going to be a big thing. I'll wear a dress, Luke'll wear a suit, Sookie will cook, the town will come…we'll have it at the inn…"

"When do you want me there?"

"Friday night's fine."

"I can't believe it's finally happening." Rory smiles fondly at the memories she has of her mother and Luke, duking it out at the diner so long ago over caffeine intake.

"I know, babe. I know." Lorelai's voice has changed; it's not longer the giddy, irrational tone, but rather a contemplative, awe-stricken one that makes Rory's smile fade to a mere whisper.

"I'm happy, Mom."

"Thanks, kid."

"I'll see you Friday, okay?"

"Okay."

"Call me if you need me to bring anything."

"A huge gift…maybe a yacht."

"Sure. I'll stick it in my duffel."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Yawning, Rory hangs up the phone and stands in her bare feet, pondering. Should she go back to bed or just bite the bullet and watch the morning news? She decides on the latter and brews coffee as the weathercaster makes his predictions. The thought of being in Stars Hollow again makes Rory weary; another round of small talk with the townspeople might destroy her. She's beginning to see why Jess hated the town so much after coming from New York.

Jess. Can't she think about something else—anything else—for a grand total of ten minutes? Just once? His voice, his face, his scent are all unwelcome invaders in her fragile Gilmore psyche. Every time she thinks of him, all she hears are his far-from-kind words, their breakup, and oddly, she envisions the small chunk of hair that refused to stay gelled and lay limply on the side of his forehead.

Things always turn out differently than intended. Rory remembers being in high school, when she was going to be a foreign correspondent. Look at her now: she writes the "Annie's Mailbox" section of the _Boston Globe_. She was going to have a steady boyfriend, someone to live with and play Speed with. In reality, she lives in the tiniest apartment known to man with only the street noises and old Mr. Krustz next door to keep her company. She was going to be her mother's best friend forever. Now they talk once a week, except in special circumstances. She was going to be with Jess. Obviously that didn't happen. In many ways, Rory is disappointed in herself, disappointed in her life.

For almost another hour, Rory zones out in front of the TV, watching vacantly as the talking heads blather on about Boston's latest news: a murder, naturally; highway construction; a public library renovation; new school policies. Rory is almost envious of the talking heads; _they_ have a more respectable job than she does. If only she could be sixteen again, idealistic and wholeheartedly believing that she could do anything.

*

Friday rolls around, and Rory boards the bus to Stars Hollow. She winces at the thought of taking a cab; it set her back quite and bit, and she regrets her rash actions. Note to self: never embark on journey less than twenty-four hours after breaking up. The bus ride is uneventful, and Rory slackens into an insensate state. After work, all the hours of hacking and doing jobs designed for copyboys, Rory is too tired to even read in the dim saffron light of the bus. 

It's a crisp fall night in Stars Hollow, so dry it makes her eyes water. The bus pulls away, leaving behind a lingering trail of exhaust and Rory. Neither she, Luke nor Lorelai thought to arrange a ride for Rory from the bus stop to the house, so Rory shoulders her duffel bags and heads home. It's a light load; half her wardrobe is still at Lorelai's. 

The town is dead, of course, at seven-thirty on a Friday night. There's a glimmer of light from Miss Patty's, and Doose's is still open, but no one is wandering the streets or driving around. Under the wooden footbridge, the water is eerily still, with not even a ripple. Rory quells the urge to toss a rock in there to disturb the irritating placidity.

When she mounts the steps to her front door, there is hardly a welcome crew. In fact, there is no one. Confused and mildly disappointed, Rory knocks on the door twice to no answer. Finally, she just steps inside and stands awkwardly in the foyer for a minute, feeling out of place. In the living room, Rory finds utter calamity. There are flowers and tulle all over the place, strewn with magazines, the phone, the television remote, and a few books.

"Mom?" Rory calls tentatively. There's no answer, so Rory continues into the kitchen, where her mother and Luke and frantically kissing. "Sorry!" Rory cries, and flees to her bedroom. Through the door, she hears scuffling and some metallic clinks.

"Rory?" Lorelai asks through the wood.

"Come in."

"Hey, babe." Lorelai smiles sheepishly. "We didn't hear you."

"Yeah, I knocked and called, but…" Rory gestures and Lorelai nods.

"Well, when the house is rocking…"

"Right." They smile at each other. "So the wedding's in the living room, then, huh?"

"I think it might be. I'm too lazy to get all that stuff over to the inn."

"Why didn't you just have it delivered there?"

"Kirk got confused."

"Ah."

"Yeah. I think Luke and I'll make another trip tonight and dump it there."

"And leave me to decorate?"

"That was my evil scheme, actually."

"I see."

"You and Babette will have plenty of time tomorrow. The wedding's not till three and there's not much to do."

"You nervous?" Rory asks, recalling the cold feet with Max.

With a deep breath, Lorelai smiles. "I'm not."

"Really?"

"It's just…Luke's _the one_. I don't think I have to be nervous. I know that he's always gonna be there for me. And it's kind of just a formality at this point."

"That's true." Rory nods sadly. She wonders if she'll ever find that sweet security instead of the bitter evanescence of her past relationships. "I'm really happy, Mom."

"So am I." Lorelai clears her throat, looking like she wants to say something more. Instead, she pats Rory's knee and says, "Well, Luke and I are going to run to the inn."

"Okay."

"There's some stuff in the fridge if you're hungry."

"Thanks."

Lorelai smiles and backs out. "It's nice having you home again."

Once Lorelai and Luke leave, the place is completely calm, a sharp polarity from Lorelai's usual clamoring household. Rory wanders aimlessly throughout the house, touching a few pictures, mindlessly picking things off the floor that were left in the wake of the wedding decorations. At this point, she should leave the house and go for a walk, but Rory doesn't want to be in the bitter cold again. It feels too alive.

They're gone for almost an hour, doing God knows what. Rory knows that the trip to the inn takes a maximum of ten minutes, giving them forty to do some unmentionable thing in one of the vacant rooms. The thought crinkles Rory's nose, and she quickly diverts her thoughts.

Of course, the only other place her thoughts can go is to Jess. Another painful scene from the past shakes her, and Rory sits on the couch, staring vacuously into space.

__

Rory comes home, her feet killing her from the steep heels. She kicks them off the second she's in the door and breathes a sigh of relief. The flat-footed feel is alien to her; Rory flexes her feet a few times to get some normal sensation back into them.

__

It takes her a second to notice Jess. When she does, her heart jumps into her throat, and it takes everything she has to keep from screaming. She wasn't expecting him to be sitting there at the table, in the dark, only lighted by the dim bathroom nightlight.

"Jess," she whispers, her voice strangled.

He says nothing, just keeps staring at her. Irrationally, she starts to feel a little afraid.

"Jess?" she asks timidly, stepping softly toward him. With the perturbation still in her feet, the world seems to be tipping unsteadily away from her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You're sitting in the dark in the middle of the night, Jess—something's wrong."

"Nope."

His cavalier attitude incenses Rory, but she keeps still. "You've been so up and down lately. Something's up." Jess' hand reaches out for her, drawing her in. He pulls her down to kiss her, but Rory forces his grip off. Jess stands, fury in his stance.

"Jesus!"

"Not this again!" Rory hollers back, certain that the entire apartment building is waking up and calling the management.

"I knew it."

"Knew what?"

"All these parties," Jess spits out, disgusted.

"Jess, just say it already."

"You want me to?"

Exhausted, Rory nods.

"You're not even in this relationship anymore."

"Me?" Rory cries, disbelieving. "Talk about projecting."

"Oh yeah?"

"Which one of us can't even be bothered to—" Rory gestures, recalling the night not so long ago, sitting on Jess' lap in her underwear.

"What the hell to you think I'm trying to do now?"

"Not now, Jess! You're angry at some mysterious thing again, I'm tired, it's one in the morning—"

"Look, whatever."

"No, not whatever. I'm sick of this. I'm sick of you claming up every time there's something wrong."

"I got fired!" Jess bellows. His breathing is heavy and erratic, his eyes focused intensely on her.

"Oh." Rory looks at his face. "Well, you'll find another job."

"Easy for you to say."

"Maybe you could even go to college now."

"Right," Jess says dryly.

"What?"

"And you wonder why I don't tell you things."

"Because I try to make you feel better? No, you're right, I'd want to have my boyfriend help me wallow in my misery too. My mistake," Rory snips, her voice harsh.

"I'm leaving."

"Good idea," Rory mutters as Jess grabs his coat and slams the door. She is left to stand by the window and listen to its reverberating rattle after Jess' sound slam.

The beginning of the end. Jess didn't come back much after that, and finally not at all. He broke Rory's heart slowly, taking one splinter at a time and furrowing it away in a secret hiding place. There's only a few slivers left, and Rory guards them carefully.

The front door bangs shut, and Rory hears Lorelai whispering, "Be quiet!" to Luke as they attempt to sneak in.

"Hey, Mom," Rory says casually as Lorelai's about to pull Luke upstairs.

"Oh, heh, hi," Lorelai stutters. "Caught me off guard there."

"So I guess you guys got most of the decorating done then, too," Rory says, smiling knowingly.

"Err—" Lorelai looks at Luke, who just stares back. "Yeah, yeah," Lorelai agrees, "the minor stuff."

"The stuff that isn't really perceptible to the human eye?"

"Yeah, behind-the-scenes stuff. Right, Luke?"

"Yep. Behind-the-scenes."

"Ah," Rory says, nodding. "Well, I guess I should let you get some rest. You must have worked hard."

"Oh, did we ever," Lorelai leers, leaning close to Luke, who looks away.

"Good night, Mom."

"Night, Rory."

Lorelai leads Luke upstairs, exchanging funny faces with him all the way. What's left of Rory's heart aches with envy. She sternly reminds herself that this is her mother and trudges into her room. Her frumpy sleep-clothes are ready and she slides into them gratefully. Slipping into the clean sheets, Rory dials Jen on her cell phone. Jen picks up on the fifth ring. "What?" she commands, and Rory can see the hand on her hip.

"Hey, Jen."

"Rory, hi."

"Is this a…bad time?"

"Scott's here."

"Oh. Um, isn't he usually?"

"No, Rory, he's _here_."

"Oh. Oh! Sorry, Jen."

"You're nothing if not an effective mood-killer."

"I'll buy you coffee when we get back."

"Add a scone and you've got a bargain."

"Sure."

"Is something wrong?" Jen asks, not entirely able to abandon her best-friendliness.

"No," Rory says, trying to restrain the melancholy in her voice.

"Oh, okay. Well…"

"Sorry. Bye. Have…fun."

"Bye."

So that's that. Rory's friends and relatives are all in love and apparently consummating it. She is alone is her teenage bedroom with only the memories of her naïve idealism to keep her company.

*

The next morning is neither sunny nor cloudy; it's a peculiar in-between day with intermittent sun breaks and cloud shadows. Rory's eyes are reluctant to open, but she nevertheless swings out of bed and starts getting dressed in her bridesmaid's get-up. Since it is Lorelai "In-Style" Gilmore's wedding, the dress is actually lovely. As she struggles to shove the zipper up her back, Rory stares in the mirror at herself, looking at a paradox. With the stylishly shorter hair and more sophisticated make-up, she looks older but feels like a teenager.

Mixed feelings churning inside her stomach, Rory exits her room into the empty kitchen. "Mom?" she calls. 

Luke appears from around the corner. "She's in the bedroom. She refuses to come out until you come up there and 'personally escort' her to the car."

"Then I better get up there."

"That would be good."

Rory shifts past Luke in the archway and mounts the stairs. Inside her mother's bedroom, there's an uncanny quietus. "Mom?" Rory asks, rapping lightly.

"Rory? Come in."

Slowly, Rory rotates the doorknob, trying to reduce the noise. For some reason, she wants to preserve the silence. "Hey," she whispers.

"Hey, hon." Lorelai pats the bed and Rory sits next to her. She can feel her mother stir next to her, a reaction to the gravity of the bedsprings.

"You almost ready?"

"Yeah, yeah. I've got my dress right over there," Lorelai says, indicating the closet.

"Your dress is in the closet?" Rory asks, her forehead creased in worry.

"Yep."

"Mom, it's gonna take us a year to find it."

"Hey, hey, I'm a better planner than that."

"Really?" Rory marvels skeptically.

"I kept it in the bag-thingie. There aren't many other things in black bags in that closet, expect for a few bodies, but those are on the floor."

"Good to know," Rory says, walking over to the closet and gathering the dress over her arm, careful to bend it in the right place. "Should we go?"

"Just a minute," Lorelai requests, again patting the mattress. Rory, dress in tow, resumes her position next to Lorelai.

"Is something wrong?"

"No." Lorelai looks at her daughter sadly. "Rory, things didn't turn out the way they should have." There's a pause while Lorelai collects her thoughts, and Rory wonders if she's supposed to say anything. "If things had gone the way they were 'supposed' to twenty-six years ago, I wouldn't be marrying Luke today."

"Mom—"

"I've just gotta say this, Rory. I feel bad that you never had a dad around growing up. It's not all Chris' fault, either, and I think you know that." Lorelai takes a deep breath and looks more directly at Rory. "We've been growing apart these past few years, and that's normal. I expected that. I just don't want you to think that Luke's replacing you."

"I know, Mom."

"I never saw myself raising a kid all alone at sixteen, but somehow I ended up here and you ended up at Harvard. I didn't do what my parents wanted me to do, but I ended up really, really happy. I want the same thing for you."

"Mom—"

"This isn't a go-out-and-get-married lecture. It's more of a…don't-get-hitched-to-the-wrong-person-out-of-desperation lecture. I almost married your dad a few times, but it never would have worked out. I'll always love him, Rory, but sometimes, no matter how much you love someone, it's just not meant to be."

"I know."

"Okay. Well…that's all I have. I guess I can go get married now."

"Okay then," Rory teases lightly. She follows Lorelai out of the room, her face crumpled in thought. Maybe she's doing the right thing, dating around, waiting for the perfect person. Maybe Jess is her Christopher. Maybe they're just not meant to be; maybe the stars are not aligned; maybe it's just not their destiny.

*

Once Rory gets to the inn, she realizes how moronic it was to change into her wedding attire. She still has to help decorate. Of course, Lorelai wouldn't have thought to get that done in advance. In her heels, Rory tediously climbs ladders and places bouquets of flowers anywhere there's a surface. In the kitchen, she can hear Sookie banging away, yelling at employees and mixing together the smells and sounds that eventually manifest themselves as delicious food.

Rory starts to panic after a while. In an hour, guests will be arriving, and she is nowhere near finished. Babette and Miss Patty are little help and Kirk is more of a hindrance than anything. Finally, Rory all but shoves them out of the room and tosses her shoes in a corner. Barefoot and immeasurably more comfortable, Rory works strenuously to put every little detail into place.

She's behind a floral arrangement when it happens. It's taken her five minutes to find a surface large enough to put the gigantic spray on, and now she's deciding how to position it. Through the flowers, she catches a glimpse of a dark head that looks hauntingly familiar. An instinct propels Rory to duck slightly so she can't be seen. The man walks to the front desk and, attitude and confidence in every motion, asks Michel a question. A key is exchanged. As if knowing she is there, he looks directly at the flowers; Rory holds her breath.

Jess.

When he goes upstairs, Rory creeps out from behind the bouquet. Her stomach is uneasy and her throat is dry. It's clear that he's spending the night, which implies that he intends to stay for the wedding and the reception. There's a very distinct chance that she'll come into close contact with him. Can she handle it?

"Rory!" 

"Huh?" Rory asks dumbly, turning toward fizzing sound. "Mom."

"I think it's time to put the big kahuna on."

"Okay." Rory retrieves her shoes and follows her mother into her office, which is scattered with dress, veil, shoes and makeup galore. Lorelai extracts the dress from the bag, and Rory smiles girlishly. "It's gorgeous."

"Isn't it?" Lorelai giggles conspiratorially.

"Makeup first or dress first?"

"Makeup."

"Okay." Rory and her mother situate themselves by the mirror, sitting on the edge of the desk, and Rory begins to slowly put some pressed powder on her mother's face. In steps, she puts on eye shadow, eyeliner, mascara, rouge, the whole bit.

"This is strange."

"Yeah," Rory agrees shyly.

"I remember when I used to do your makeup."

"I guess you're regressing," Rory teases.

"Maybe so. But I'll probably get lots of Jell-O."

"Probably so." Rory gestures for her mother to stand and get undressed and she prepares the dress. Lorelai quickly strips while Rory looks away.

"Okay, beam me up, Scotty," Lorelai says, standing in a slip. She and Rory wrestle the dress on, trying to avoid smearing makeup all over. "Well?" Lorelai asks, twirling.

"It's perfect," Rory says honestly. "You look perfect."

Lorelai hugs Rory tightly. "What time is it?"

"It's a quarter of."

"Oh, super. Now I get to sit and wait for fifteen minutes. I hate being early."

"It's much better than being late."

"No! Now I can't distract myself by running around frantically. I have to wait calmly."

"Just think about things to torture Luke with on your honeymoon."

"Hmm. Not a bad thought."

Rory smiles and starts backing out of the room. "I'm going to go make sure all the decorations are in the right places."

"Okay." Lorelai breathes deeply. "Wish me luck."

"You'll be fine."

"Yeah."

"It's Luke, it's Stars Hollow…"

"Okay. I can do this."

Rory nods and latches the door after herself. In and out, in and out she breathes, then starts walking toward where the guests are congregating. Small talk isn't appetizing right now, so Rory gears up to turn the corner as fast as possible and zoom around, into the kitchen. The turning part works, but the bumping into someone is unexpected.

"Oof!" Rory cries in astonishment. She looks up. It's final; this day can get no more unsettling. "Jess, hi."

"Hello."

"I was just—uh—"

"Escaping."

"No. I was seeing…if Sookie is okay. She's, um, she's pregnant you know, so I didn't know if she was getting tired or needed help with her dress or anything, so I thought I'd kind of go and help." Rory nods stupidly.

"Carry on," Jess says, brushing by her. Rory stays in the same position for a minute, shutting her eyes and inhaling his scent. Even after quite a while, she recalls his scent perfectly. She remembers hearing that it's one of the stimulants in human sexuality.

In the kitchen, Sookie is bossing people around to the best of her ability. Her stomach has grown so that it's difficult for her to fit into passageways and make sure that everything in the pot is perfect. So she's resorted to instructing her assistant chefs.

"Hey Sookie," Rory says casually. "Hey there, Carrie," Rory greets Sookie's daughter.

"Hi, Rory," mother and daughter chorus in unison.

"How's the food?"

"I got pregnant at a really bad time," Sookie moans. "I mean, there's a science to—Sancho, no! Put the garlic in first. _Primero_!"

"Sounds hectic," Rory observes, her eyebrows raised.

"Plus I can't be a bridesmaid…stupid ankles."

"Trust me, Mom and I would rather have you as front-row photographer. Less chance of you falling."

"I suppose. I always wanted to be Lorelai's bridesmaid though."

"I've got it covered."

"Aw, I know you do, sweetie."

"You ready, Carrie?" Rory asks Sookie's daughter.

"Yeah. Mom helped me put my dress on."

"Good." Rory looks at the chaos of the kitchen. Sookie is yelling at Sancho again and Rory can see a disaster forming in Paul's area. "You know where to go, right?"

"Yeah," Carrie answers.

"Okay. Tell your mom that I had to go greet people."

"Okay."

Rory backs out of the kitchen, trying not to attract attention to herself. In the lobby, the guests are mingling among Rory's carefully planned decorations. She doesn't see Jess in the mix, so she dives in head first, smiling like a ventriloquist's dummy. Everyone tells her how nice it is to see her again so soon, what a nice wedding this is, how they've waited for this forever, on and on. While Rory knows that their intentions are nothing but good, her nerves are frazzled from decorating and small talk. Right now, all she wants is to be back in Boston, sipping coffee and reading a book.

The pastor signals Rory, and Rory nods, graciously excusing herself from the hubbub. "Mom?" she asks softly, knocking on the door. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," Lorelai says through the door.

"Then come on."

Lorelai emerges from the office, and for a moment as she looks behind her to make sure that her dress will clear the door, Rory gets a vision of her mother as a child. They link arms as they walk to down a narrow corridor to the back door. "Ready to give me away?" Lorelai asks, smiling, her voice asking more.

"Prepared as a Boy Scout," Rory replies, her words hinting at something affectionate beneath the comical banter.

Being Lorelai, no normal music plays. Instead of the traditional wedding march, Lorelai has selected "Goin' to the Chapel." 

"You should have been the female Al Bundy," Rory whispers to her mother.

"I thought about it," Lorelai murmurs back as they approach the pathway.

At this moment, Rory feels as though a solemn bell should be ringing in the background. The wedding is lighthearted and sweet, the colors bright, the guests beaming, but Rory feels rolling thunder in her stomach. Staring down the aisle like this, Rory almost feels as though she's the one who's getting married. It makes her feel nauseous and insecure, like the ground could collapse under her feet. Ironically, Lorelai looks like she's going to the market.

Amidst tears and caring exclamations, Rory brings Lorelai down the aisle. Carrie treads the way for them, throwing her flowers proudly. At the altar, Luke is looking content but fidgety. Lorelai smiles at him, and Luke smiles back. 

Before she reaches the pinnacle of the march, Rory turns Lorelai to her and gently lifts her veil. The women smile at each other and Rory kisses her mother's cheek with a bittersweet finality. "I love you," she breathes.

*

"Well, I must say, Rory, you did an excellent job of giving your mother away," Richard says, smiling.

"Thanks, Grandpa. Did you two like the ceremony?" she asks her grandparents, ever the doting, precocious grandchild. 

"It was…lovely," Emily says, her response stilted.

"Hey Mom, Dad," Lorelai greets them, coming up with Luke.

"Hello Lorelai. Luke," Emily adds, her eyebrow raised slyly. Rory could almost hear the "I told you so" coming from her grandmother.

"Luke!" Richard shakes his hand jovially. 

"Mr. Gilmore."

"Call me Richard. We're related now."

"We should be going," Emily announces, looking toward the townspeople gossiping and dancing.

"Thank you for coming," Lorelai says sincerely.

"We wouldn't miss this," Richard assures her. He reaches into his pocket and extends an envelope.

"No, Dad, I can't," Lorelai protests.

"No, it is our gift to you. We insist that you take it." Richard thrusts the envelope farther out and Lorelai looks to Luke. He says nothing, and Lorelai accepts it.

"Thank you."

"Ah, it's nothing." Richard kisses Lorelai's cheek. "Emily?"

"Yes. Congratulations," she says to Lorelai and Luke. "Come have dinner soon," she says to Rory, kissing her on the cheek. She and Richard pick their way to the car through the grass while Rory, Lorelai and Luke look on.

"I wonder what I'll have to do for this money," Lorelai mutters.

"Mom, I'm pretty sure that was a gift."

"Yeah, and they can't even give me a tax-free one." Lorelai sloppily opens the envelope and withdraws a thin slip of paper.

"Wow," Luke says, looking over Lorelai's shoulder.

"Wow," Lorelai echoes.

"What?" Rory asks, swinging around to see. "Wow."

"It's halfway tax-free," Lorelai marvels. 

"Martha's Vineyard?" Luke asks skeptically.

"Hey, that's nice," Rory says.

"Yeah, use of the formerly pink-and-green house for half a year where most people spend their free time taking Valium overdoses," Lorelai says. "But the money…I could buy a supply of Krispy Kremes."

Rory shakes her head. "When does your plane leave?"

"Soon," Lorelai says, sobering. "You can stay in the house as long as you want."

"I know," Rory says. "Thanks. I'll probably leave tonight or tomorrow morning."

"Okay, hon."

Kirk's car pulls up in the front of the inn. "Mom?" Rory asks.

"Kirk was miffed that he didn't get to be photographer, so we said he could be the chauffeur."

"That was generous of you," Rory says sarcastically. "You're going to sit in the backseat and make him nervous, aren't you?"

A wicked grin spreads on Lorelai's face. Luke shakes his head. "I'm just seeing if I make it alive."

"Good luck," Rory says, nodding. The three start to make their way toward the herd of Stars Hollow denizens. 

"I hope they aren't throwing rice," Lorelai says suddenly.

"Why?" Luke asks.

"It'll go down the front of my dress, and what fun is it teasing Kirk with rice down my dress?"

"Just don't try to catch the rice," Luke advises.

"No guarantees."

"Bye," Rory says simply, hugging them both. "Have fun in New Orleans."

"I'm sure," Luke says gloomily.

"Oh, Grumpy, you'll have fun," Lorelai reprimands. "Bye, babe. Don't burn the house down."

"I'll do my utmost."

Lorelai and Luke half-walk-half-jog through the rain of rice that hails down. Bootsy, evidently misunderstanding the word "toss," hurls rice at the couple.

"Ow!" Lorelai cries. "Bootsy! That was my eye!"

Luke presses on her back and they sprint through the remaining feet and dive into the car. Rory waves from the back of the crowd, although they probably can't see her. On the fringe, where he always is, she sees Jess, his hands behind his back, staring after the car. As soon as it rounds the bend, he ambles inside while the others wave to nothing.

*

It's late. Rory has dismantled most of the decorations in the dim, still inn. She leaves the flowers up for the guests and trudges into the kitchen in hopes of Sookie having left some delicious delicacy. There are leftover candies and cookies all over the counters and Rory notices a plastic baggie with her name on it, filled with goodies. She smiles at Sookie's thoughtfulness and takes the bag with her.

"Oh!" she exclaims. She could have sworn the door moved and hit her in the face. 

"Sorry," says the person on the other side.

Rory rubs her cheek and backs up for the other person to enter. Jess slips between the two doors in his dress clothes minus the jacket. "'S okay," Rory mumbles like a child. Normally she would have told him about how she thought the door was moving on its own, but she doubts it would be a flattering anecdote.

"I just…"

"Thought you'd raid the place?" Rory asks, holding up her bag.

"Something like that," Jess agrees, sliding onto a stool.

"There's probably a ton of cake left."

"It was big."

"Just the way my mother wanted it." There is a long silence where each tries to gauge the other's attitude. "I'm surprised you came," Rory says at last.

"Yeah." She wants to ask why, but that question gets her in trouble a lot. "Surprised it wasn't your wedding."

"What?" Rory asks, utterly confused. "Why?" 

"You're the marrying type," Jess says casually, chewing a cookie.

"Oh," Rory says, nodding her head very slowly, recalling the feeling she'd had standing by Lorelai. "And you would have come?"

"Probably not."

"Of course. So…why did you come to Luke's?"

Jess shrugs. "There was no one else from his family here. I mean, my mom's definitely not coming, so…"

"Oh." Rory clears her throat. She wants to continue her civil conversation with Jess, but she knows that standing uncomfortably near the door probably isn't the most flattering image. Unsure of what to do, Rory starts leaving.

"Rory."

"What?"

"I'm…sorry. About New York."

Rory absorbs the information and turns around to face him. "Me too."

"Okay."

Unable to stop herself, Rory climbs onto a stool across from him. "Jess?"

"Yeah?"

"Why didn't we work out?"

"That's a pretty loaded question." Jess gives her no answer, just chews.

"I know it is."

"I don't know, Rory."

"I don't either."

Across the counter, Jess sighs. "Let's just blame it on timing, all right?"

"Okay, sure." Rory reaches in her bag and grabs a cookie. "So what are you doing?"

"Eating."

"For a living?" Rory teases, catching some crumbs with her cupped hand.

"Sumo wrestling."

"Jess."

"I own a tiny, nondescript, almost unprofitable bookstore."

"Really?" Rory asks, lighting up. "That's so…you."

"Yeah," Jess says unenthusiastically.

"Jess, come on, that's great."

"I guess." Jess looks at her as she eats. "You?"

"I write."

"Figures."

"The best part is…" Rory laughs, "…the best part is that I write a love advice column."

"Guess you shoulda gone to Yale."

Rory smiles. In the tangerine glow from the small nightlight in the corner, Jess' sharp features are softened and his eyes made more mysterious. Sometimes, Rory can feel impulsive moments before they even reach her brain. They course through her body as a tingly jolt, a split second of electric blood. The current connects with her brain, and Rory crawls across the table, folds the back of Jess' head in her hand, and presses her lips to his.

Jess nearly falls off of his stool in surprise and grasps Rory's shoulders to steady himself. Rory lets herself concentrate on nothing but the feel of his lips and the touch of his hands—so long gone—and refuses to think about the consequences. There's a peculiar rush of adrenaline accompanying the kiss, knowing that at any moment, someone could walk in here and catch them among the cookies and cake.

When the kiss breaks, Rory and Jess both lean back. "Rory…" Jess says, but nothing more comes out. Finally he says, "This isn't good for the health code."

"Then get me off the counter," Rory demands.

Jess stands up and gestures for Rory. She scoots off the counter and lets him arrange her in his arms. He carries her upstairs, like a bride, to his bed.


	6. A Book Nobody Will Read

****

The Wurlitzer Prize

__

Part Six: A Book Nobody Will Read

****

Author's Note: Thank you to all of you who review. I really enjoy reading them and I hope you enjoy reading this story.

****

Dedications: First of all, to **emrie**, without whom this story would be nowhere. Also to **Kate, Marissa, Chris, Elise **and **Hadar**. Thank you ladies.

It's still fairly early when Rory wakes up the next morning, sprawled comfortably on Jess. Her leg is flung over his, her hand flat on his chest, her hair all over his shoulder. Trying not to move too suddenly, Rory tilts her head to get a better angle. His eyes are shut and his mouth is open slightly as he snores lightly. A pale feeling pillows in Rory's stomach as she recalls mornings in this same position from a long time ago.

As if sensing her activity, Jess wakes up. He looks a little disoriented when he first sees her there. "Rory," he murmurs, his voice thick and hoarse with sleep.

"Hi," Rory breathes, admiring him in the green-filtered sunlight.

Jess stretches and makes a noise. Rory rolls off of him a little, making sure the sheet is drawn around her. Everything looks uglier in the morning light, especially women. Last night, Jess couldn't see all of Rory; she was protected. But now, he's free to look at every aspect of her, and that makes her uneasy for some reason. He quits stretching and looks at her. They have nothing to say to each other.

"I should go," Rory whispers, wanting to cry. She's gotten herself into a terrible mess. He's taken another one of her precious splinters.

Jess says nothing, just reaches out and touches her cheek with his finger. Knowing this can't last, Rory turns her face away. Why get used to something she'll never have?

"Rory?"

"I'm sorry," Rory says, sliding out from under the sheets as quickly as possible. Her underwear is nowhere to be found, but everything's harder to see through tears. She finally locates them by the chair leg and puts them on. Not bothering with her bra, she yanks her dress over her head and jams her feet into her shoes.

Jess intercepts her by the door. "Hit and run?" he asks.

"Kind of," Rory admits. There aren't any secrets now. "This was stupid."

"Yeah," Jess agrees. They stare at each other. "I miss you," he confesses very quietly. Rory knows from experience that anything relating to emotion is tough for Jess.

"Jess, don't make me feel guilty."

"I'm not."

"You are. This was dumb and I just want to leave and forget it. I did _not_ come to my mother's wedding to sleep with my ex-boyfriend."

"And you think I did?"

"You don't have too many ex-boyfriends," Rory says immaturely.

"Rory."

"Don't." Rory crosses her arms. "No matter how nice you are this morning, it's just one morning. A relationship is more than one morning, Jess."

"I know."

"You do? Because I don't think you really do."

"I've—"

"Changed?"

"Well, yeah."

"The last time I saw you, it didn't seem like you'd changed much."

"I was surprised."

"So every time you're surprised, you turn into a jerk?" Rory asks, looking in his face.

"Look, I wasn't expecting you to just _drop by_. I mean, come on, no phone call, no postcard, nothing for God knows how long and then you show up on my doorstep? How would you react?"

"Well, I'd be more polite."

"You say that now," Jess says.

"This isn't helping," Rory sighs, tired. 

"Fine."

They stand there, awkwardly positioned by the door at an impasse. Neither wants to start the next branch of conversation, but neither wants to leave.

"This won't work, Jess."

"Why?"

"I—we're—remember what happened the last time we tried this?"

"Things are different, Rory."

"I live in Boston. I have a life, a job. You live in New York. That's kind of a problem."

Jess says nothing, just stares past her head at the door. "Right," he says, sounding deflated.

At the disappointment in his voice, Rory softens a little, like a mother might toward her little boy. "I'm sorry I dragged us into this, Jess."

"Yeah, well, it took both of us."

"Yes, but I initiated it."

"Look, Rory, you don't have to try to make me feel better, all right?" Like a glint of light on metal, Jess' tone has changed again. It's full of bitterness now, a torrential downpour of pain and harshness. "Last night doesn't matter. It's always the same. You're the Harvard graduate with a reputation to keep up and I'm just the underachieving bum."

"Jess, that's not true."

A harsh laugh peters out through his lips. "Sure, Rory. You're going to walk out the door and worry about whether or not people saw you. You never change."

Tears sting Rory's eyes. "This is what I'm talking about. You're not surprised now."

"I thought maybe _you_ had changed."

"I didn't come to my mother's wedding to sleep with you."

"Why do you keep saying that? What the hell does that mean?"

"It means—it means—" Rory struggles to find a word, a phrase that might free her from the burning gaze. The truth is, Rory has no idea why she said it. She supposes she said it just to let Jess know that this wasn't how she envisioned their reconciliation. "It means exactly what I said," Rory finally mutters.

"Fine," Jess says again.

"I didn't even know you were going to be here," Rory continues.

"Dean isn't behind you."

"What?"

"You don't need to justify yourself to me. I get it."

Rory takes a deep breath. They don't need to argue right now. Rory doesn't want to walk away from here knowing that she and Jess ended on a bad note. "Can we just talk?" she asks quietly.

A long pause. Out of the corner of her eye, Rory can see Jess considering. "Fine," he relents and they sit on the edge of the bed. 

The clock ticks loudly as Rory considers what to say. "Are you, um, with…anyone?" she asks, the first question that pops into her head.

"No."

"I thought you said—in New York—"

"We broke up."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"Okay."

"How about you?" he asks, his eyes diligently not focused on her.

"No. No," Rory repeats, wanting to laugh.

This is certainly the strangest conversation Rory has ever taken part in. It makes her sad, these two people who used to be so intimate, now almost incapable of exchanging ten normal words.

"You, uh, heading back today?"

"I think so," Rory replies. "You?"

"Yeah."

"I was in love with you," Rory blurts out. She has wanted to tell him this for the longest time, to let him know how much he hurt her. "I wanted to marry you," Rory almost whispers.

"Rory…"

"And I was so stupid. I thought you were going to ask me, but you broke my heart instead."

"Don't," Jess says, looking away, down at the floor with his clothes strewn about.

"I never got to tell you this." Jess says nothing. Rory knows it's his defense mechanism to get silent when he might get hurt. "But," she sighs, "I guess you were never really the type to get married."

"I wasn't good enough," Jess murmurs, so low Rory almost doesn't catch it.

"All you had to do was ask." Rory looks around them. It's almost funny; not so long ago, she was set on them getting married and now—now they've having a one-night stand in her mother's inn. "I think…I think that's why I'm not married."

"Me."

"Well, yeah. I mean, the idea of you. I thought I would never be like Luke, pining for someone, but…"

"Turned out all right for Luke."

Rory looks at him. He is turned partially to her, a small glint in his eye. She smiles, relieved that he's broken the tension. "Yeah, I guess it did." He turns to her in profile and Rory remembers how beautiful he is. Jess is almost too beautiful for a man. Her hand wanders and bumps tenderly down his sharp cheekbone and the slant of his jaw. She can see the expansion of his chest and back as he takes a deep breath. "Why didn't you ask me, Jess?"

"Rory, come on."

"I want to know." She cradles his chin in her palm and lifts his face toward herself.

Jess takes her wrist and sets her hand back in her lap. It's easier to say these things without the dim satin of her touch on him. "Do you remember when we first started dating?"

"Of course."

"Your mother told me that I didn't deserve you."

Rory waits for him to expound, but he doesn't. "That's it? My mom said something ten years ago and…and you just…just let it…" She can't even finish her sentence; the words are captive behind a thick, dense net.

"She was right."

She knows that reassuring him will serve no good. Instead, she fixates on the ground, her iridescent nail polish, the posh carpeting. Memories from a long time ago are besetting her, and no matter how Rory tries to crouch behind the protection of her willpower, her subconscious ultimately triumphs. 

__

Most people hate the snow, but Rory loves it. She loves the way it falls in opaque veils, slowing people down, ensuring a quiet day at home. Snow means donuts and silent strolls and a day with her book. Snow means bad TV to mock and long hot showers and wool socks. Snow means a whole day with Jess in their cozy apartment.

Unearthing herself from the blankets on the couch, Rory shuffles into the kitchen. As usual, their heat has gone out at the most inconvenient time and it's freezing in their tiny abode. Jess is standing at the stove, stirring soup for lunch and Rory pauses at the doorway to look at him. 

"Yes?" he asks after some time.

Rory never understands how he knows she's there. She supposes it's like her mother and the snow; there's no explanation. "What kind are you making?"

"Chicken noodle," Jess answers, dropping some bread in the toaster.

"Gourmet," Rory teases, entering the kitchen.

Jess smiles at her and Rory crosses the cheap linoleum flooring to stand next to him.

"What do I do?" Rory asks, poised and ready to cook.

"Nothing. I still want an apartment when we're done," Jess says.

"Hey, it's just soup."

"That's what you said about the Hamburger Helper."

"They should have put a warning about the milk on the back."

"And the Rice-A-Roni."

"How was I supposed to know?"

"And the instant potatoes."

"Anyone could have made that mistake."

"Or the refried beans."

"No one told me not to seal it."

"You're a smart girl. I was cleaning refried beans out of our microwave for an hour," Jess says, although his voice is affectionate.

"Fine. I'll butter toast."

"Think you can handle it? I mean, you'll be using a knife."

Rory glares at him and grabs a knife out of the drawer. "I'd be careful if I were you," Rory says, swinging her hips as she walks the three steps to the toaster.

"I'll keep an eye open," Jess says dryly, gently agitating the soup.

"I can be very sneaky," Rory warns as she slathers the butter onto the bread generously.

"Don't I know it."

Rory grins to herself and drop the toast onto a plate. They have a small two-person table by the window and Rory leans her elbows on it as she watches the snow fall. It's breathtaking, the encompassing white. She hears Jess come out of the kitchen. He reaches around one side and puts and bowl down, then the other. He stands directly behind her and wraps his arms around her hips, resting his head on her shoulder.

"It's beautiful," Rory breathes.

Jess' voice tickles her neck when he talks. "It's a catastrophe. There are cars crashing and power lines down—"

"Shut up," Rory reprimands. "It's beautiful."

Jess makes a sound and kisses her neck. These are the kinds of moments Rory loves: just her and Jess, the quiet, the privacy and solitude that comes with the snow. She slowly rotates in his arms to face him and touches her lips to his. 

After a long while, he breaks away. "The soup," he tells and sits.

She takes her seat across from him and they eat in silence, daydreaming, musing, knowing what comes next in their snowy sonnet.

They leave the dishes on the table. Rory hates leaving dishes on the table; anything left out makes their apartment look shabby. But right now, in the torrid heat of the moment, in their frigid apartment, it doesn't matter.

Jess leans in leisurely to kiss her and Rory responds warmly, her poodle-scattered pajamas feeling feverishly hot. She isn't sure what it is about Jess that ignites such an immediate, fervent response in her. For some strange reason, "Dirty Dancing" pops into her head and Rory smiles against Jess' mouth.

"What?" he whispers, moving on to her ear.

"Well, here I am honey, come on, come on, and cry to me," Rory warbles in a poor imitation of Solomon Burke.

Jess chuckles into her eardrum and Rory shivers. "When you're all alone," Jess murmurs, "in your lonely room…"

Deliberately, Rory drags her leg up Jess'. He catches her knee and she dips backward against his other arm. They spin around and Rory giggles. Jess smiles at her and raises her arms above her head to take her pajama top off.

Rory's winter-wan skin almost glows in the fading gray light of the evening and Jess drags his lips along her collarbone. Trembling, Rory wraps her arms around him and clings, for his warmth. "Jess," she whispers, tugging at his shirt. He lets her take it off and tosses it on the couch. Very softly, he pulls her in until their hips are flush. Understanding, Rory parts her legs and lets one of his slide between. They languidly sway to the mutually sensed music.

Some time later, wrapped up in the familiar blankets of their bed, Rory rolls over and faces Jess in the saffron light from their small lamp. Tilting her head, she props herself up on her elbows, drawing them into her breasts to support herself.

Jess looks back at her, his bedroom eyes darker than usual in the dusky light. Looking at him, Rory slowly shifts and rearranges until she's on top of him, straddling him. He twines their hands together, letting her lean on him.

"The soup was good," Rory finally says to break the silence.

Jess smirks. "Obviously."

She hits him gently on the shoulder. He laughs and she enjoys the sonorous sound, the way he bounces her slightly. Taking one hand out of his grip, she traces the sinew in his arms, hardened from manual labor. When she looks into his eyes, he knows what she's thinking and he gingerly brings his arms down so she lays on him. Chest to chest, skin to skin, cold to cold, they breathe.

Snapping out of her long, sweet reminiscence, Rory's gaze roams to Jess' face. She knows he's caught in a memory too. Very quietly, Rory rises and kisses his head. "I'm sorry, Jess," she says.

"Yeah," he says, "me too."

"I'll…I'll see you around." Lame though it is, it's all Rory can think of. She leaves, careful not to make too much noise. Outside the door, she turns and leans against it. An errant tear puddles on her cheek and is soon followed.

Inside, Jess puts his head in his hands, looking at the floor, at his clothes scattered all over. He notices a wrapper on the floor and sighs, tossing it in the garbage can along with the used product. Parting the curtains just a bit, he looks outside. There's no snow.


	7. Konstantine

****

The Wurlitzer Prize

****

Author's Note: Thank you to all those who review. It means a lot to me to get feedback on my work.

****

Dedications: To **emrie** (good luck, college girl!), **Chris, Kate, Hadar,** and of course, **Marissa**, the coolest nag in the world.

__

Part Seven: Konstantine

The merry laughter of her coworkers jingles around Rory as she smiles politely at Ben's mundane joke. Everyone else laughs only because they've had too much free eggnog, but Rory, as usual, has skipped the imbibing. Jen, on the other side of the room, is on her fourth glass; Rory knows that Scott will have to come help take her home. Rory is taking off for Stars Hollow, for yet another year of patented Lorelai Gilmore Christmas cheer.

And this time, she's bringing someone with her. To Luke and Lorelai, he is shrouded in mystery. Rory has been very careful to divulge few details, for when she does, her relationships seem to come crashing down. All they know is this: his name is Aaron Karr, he works at MIT as a junior professor and he too enjoys coffee. 

With a fake smile pasted on, Rory kindly wishes everyone a merry Christmas and ducks out of the claustrophobic party. Though it's frosty outside, Rory leans against the side of the building to wait for Aaron. Like a kid, Rory watches her breath crystallize, as if by magic, in the air. In the distance, she sees the freeway, with the cars' headlights and taillights blinking like Christmas lights.

Aaron pulls up in five minutes and hops out of the car. "It's freezing out here!" he exclaims when he sees her, ushering her into the warmth of his Jaguar. "I told you I'd come up and get you," he reprimands lightly, crawling in the other side.

"I didn't want you to get trapped by my drunken coworkers," Rory replies, snuggling into the toasty leather.

"Don't worry about me. I just hope you didn't get frostbite."

"In five minutes? I don't think so," Rory answers, chuckling.

"So how was the party?"

"Mandatory."

"Ah," Aaron says, turning onto the on-ramp.

"How was yours?"

"Well, I'm Jewish, so it was pretty meaningless."

Rory hasn't even mentioned that fact to Luke and Lorelai. One of Aaron's most admirable qualities, to Rory, is his dedication to his religion. He is quiet about it, doesn't draw a lot of attention to it, but is sincerely devout. Stable people like that are attractive to Rory.

"I hate these things," Rory groans, letting her head swivel against the headrest.

"They were invented by Satan. Or Engelbert Humperdink." 

"Either one," Rory agrees, watching the other cars _woosh_ by.

They drive in silent camaraderie, and Rory's thoughts are driven back to Stars Hollow. She is distressed about the trip, although she hasn't let on to her mother or Aaron. In the back of her mind, the nagging thought that Jess will be there haunts her. After their last encounter, Rory can barely fathom seeing him. She remembers the movie _Say Anything…_ in which Cory tells Lloyd that no matter what, no matter how old they get or how generic the topic of conversation, whenever he and Diane see each other, they'll think about the sex. And that's truly what Rory is concerned about.

Briefly, she glances at Aaron, who is concentrating assiduously on the road. Blinking back tears for some strange reason, Rory returns to her window watching. She prays that their relationship is sturdy enough to carry her through seeing Jess.

And, most worrisome of all, Rory can see a life pattern developing. Will seeing Jess _always_ be like this? When she's old and gray and married, will she still panic about seeing Jess? Will _any_ relationship be strong enough to handle the enormous pressure of her past?

"What are you thinking about?" Aaron asks suddenly.

"Just…my mom," Rory lies.

"Oh. Should I be scared?"

"Very," Rory teases gaily. In the back of her mind, she thinks that perhaps he should be scared. Aaron is not particularly sophisticated when it comes to casual, get-to-know-you conversation. When Rory first met him, he told her in a bout of nerves that he had always wanted to be an astronaut as a kid.

"Well, here's our exit," Aaron says, signaling and slowing as he pulls onto the off-ramp.

"Yep, here's our exit," Rory echoes with less enthusiasm.

"Something wrong?"

"No, nothing."

"You seem preoccupied."

"Just daydreaming."

"About me?"

"Who else?" Rory asks, a hot iron of guilt searing her.

"Fabio," Aaron counters and Rory laughs.

"You know me so well."

"Which turn?"

"That one, to the left."

They pass by Luke's, and Rory feels the familiar clench in her stomach spread up her esophagus to her heart. The town is, naturally, unchanged since her mother's wedding, although they have lights up now.

"The town looks nice," Aaron comments, and Rory makes a noise of accord. "Do they do this every year?"

"Every year," Rory confirms. "Take a right."

"So _that's_ Monty."

"That's Monty," Rory repeats, feeling like a dumb parrot.

"He's huge."

"I tried to tell you."

"But then again, who would believe a story about a gigantic rooster?"

"I had hope for you," Rory says dramatically.

"Here?" Aaron asks, pointing to her driveway.

"That's the one." 

The house looks wonderful; with Luke's help, Lorelai was able to string lights everywhere, and the building is aglow. Rory looks nervously for another car, wondering if it's Jess', but he probably doesn't have a car in New York. Aaron cuts the engine and Rory nervously steps out into the thin veil of snow.

"It's lovely," Aaron says, smiling.

"My mom's festive."

"So you said."

"Well…come on," Rory says, giggling slightly, herding him toward the door. "We all know how _cold_ it is," she jokes.

"I'd get your limbs inspected, just in case."

"That's on the top of my list."

"Yeah, the list you never look at," Aaron mutters dryly.

"But it's at the top." Rory dings the bell and there's shuffling heard. Aaron looks vaguely alarmed at how long it takes. "Don't worry, it's the door-opening symphony."

"I see."

At long last, the door is yanked open with a flourish, and there stands Lorelai in all her bright red and green glory. "Rory!" she cries, suffocating her daughter in a hug.

"What are you wearing?!" Rory cries. Lorelai is bedecked in a gigantic sweater with a reindeer on it, glowing with little lights.

"Like it?"

"It's atrocious."

Lorelai beams. "I got it at the rummage sale."

"Now there's a surprise." Rory takes Aaron's arm and pulls him next to her. "Mom, this is Aaron Karr. Aaron, this is my mother, Lorelai."

"Hi there," Lorelai says, shaking his hand.

"Hi."

"Well, come on in." The three scuttle in the door and Lorelai rounds them through the exceptionally messy living room. "We're gathering in the kitchen. I haven't finished decorating the living room yet."

"Mom, it's the twenty-third," Rory chastises.

"I'm a busy woman." Lorelai sweeps them into the kitchen and Rory's stomach nearly falls out. Jess is standing by the stove, helping Luke cook. "A-hem," Lorelai coughs and both men turn around. Rory covertly watches Jess' face, but his expression does not change as he looks at her and Aaron. Disappointment almost makes her faint. "Luke, Jess, this is Aaron."

There's a faint pause. Even Rory can see how out of place red-headed Aaron is in their determinedly brunette kitchen.

"Hi," Luke says gruffly, coming over to shake his hand.

"Hi," Aaron replies. Rory can see his nervousness floating around him.

"This is Jess," Lorelai says again. "Luke's nephew," she adds.

"Nice to meet you," Aaron says with a tiny wave.

"Yeah, same here," Jess says and turns away.

"He's got an anti-social problem," Lorelai explains, with a wink. "Anyway, sit, sit. Luke's got coffee."

"But not for you," Luke says sternly as he pours two cups.

"Luke, honestly, you should have been a doctor."

"I missed my true calling," Luke mutter and sets the mugs down. Aaron drinks gratefully, but Rory is too busy observing Jess just a few feet away.

"So, Aaron. Junior professor at MIT?" Lorelai asks.

"Yes. Yes."

"What do you teach?"

"Uh, for right now, an introductory calculus course, but later, I'll be in the topographical algebra field."

"Sounds exciting," Lorelai says, nodding.

"Well, the professorship is, but the subject's not exciting to most."

"That's true."

A pause.

Luke says, "You went to MIT?"

"Yes. I got a scholarship in my senior year of high school. I wasn't expecting it. But I guess those standardized tests are good for something."

Another pause.

Lorelai says, "Do you like Boston?"

"Yeah, just not the traffic. But the newspaper's excellent."

Another pause.

Luke says, "And Rory tells me you like coffee."

"I do. I drink about two gallons a day. With sugar. Creamer sometimes. They have some really good stuff in the cafeteria at MIT. Well, it's the only good thing at the MIT cafeteria."

"Just what we need, another coffee addict," Luke mumbles.

Another pause.

Lorelai says, "So, do you like to read?"

"Well, not as much as Rory. I'm more mathematically-minded." 

Lorelai nods.

Another pause.

Luke says, "Jess likes reading."

Aaron smiles. "That's good."

Another pause.

Lorelai says, "So, what's your family like?"

"My father died when I was seven and my mother lives in Florida now. She's single-handedly supporting the sunscreen industry. She's happy, though. And tan. Really tan. She's always more tan than I am. It's embarrassing, your mother always looking healthier, but uh…" 

"Oh, that's tough, losing your dad so young."

"Yeah, it was."

"What's your mom doing for Christmas?"

"She's, uh, Jewish, but she's got a big group of friends down there. A lot of them don't have family coming, so they get together every year and celebrate. I think they play bridge. But maybe they just sit outside and tan. I'm never really sure. She's kind of vague on the phone, like it's a secret or something."

"Ah."

Another pause.

Luke says, "How's that soup coming, Jess?"

"Right along," Jess answers.

Luke jerks his thumb towards Jess and says to Aaron, "You two should talk sometime."

"Yeah," Aaron agrees.

Jess says nothing.

Another pause.

Lorelai says, "How's work, Rory?"

"Tedious."

"Any word from the _Times_?"

"Not yet. I called them back, but Glenn was on vacation."

"Bummer."

Another pause.

Luke says, "Hey, Jess, I'll take care of that. Why don't you and Aaron go talk, give Rory and Lorelai a little time?"

"Sure," Aaron agrees, eager to please.

Jess plunks his spoon down and brushes past Rory on his way out, no comment. Aaron looks confused.

"Just go ahead," Luke says. "He's not talkative, but you guys will get along."

"Maybe I'll shovel the walk," Aaron says uncomfortably as he stands.

"You don't have to do that," Lorelai says, smiling. "You don't have to leave. Luke's just being rude."

"No, that's fine. I should probably get our bags in," he says to Rory, leaning down and pecking her with his lips.

"See you in a minute," Rory calls as he leaves, then sits, dejected, at the table.

Lorelai smiles encouragingly. "He seems nice."

"He's usually a lot funnier," Rory says.

"He's nervous," Lorelai assures her soothingly. "He'll get over it."

"I mean, I've never had to pull teeth like that," Rory continues, ignoring her mother's words.

"Don't worry, hon, by then end of the weekend, he'll be talking like Anna Nicole Smith with a quart of rum in her."

Rory pulls a face. "I like pulling teeth."

Outside, Jess smokes on the porch. Aaron comes out of the house, shutting the door quietly behind him. "Hey," he greets Jess.

"Hey," Jess says coolly, not even a hint of apology in his voice.

Aaron leans against the opposite post. "So, do you live here?"

"New York."

"Ah, the Big Apple," Aaron says, nodding. Jess rolls his eyes. "What do you do?"

"I own a bookstore."

"Really? One I've heard of?"

"I doubt it," Jess sneers. 

"Okay," Aaron responds. "So, you like it up there?"

"Better than here."

"I like this town."

"You've been here for twenty minutes."

"It's…quaint."

Jess snorts very, very softly. "Understatement. It's rudimentary. It's Laura Ingalls Wilder with electricity."

"So, did you grow up here?"

"Nope."

Aaron searches for another conversation point. "Are you close with Rory?"

Jess gives him an incredulous look that Aaron can't figure out. Though he shows no emotion, Jess smokes his cigarette a little faster, taking rapid pulls and stubbing it out fast, burning his indelible mark on the porch wood. "No," he says.

"Oh."

"I'm going in. It's cold," Jess says, turning and stepping sharply inside. Aaron breathes out hard, wondering about Jess, about their stilted, almost hostile, conversation.

Inside, Jess doesn't acknowledge Rory as they pass in the foyer. "Jess?" Rory asks softly, but he breezes by, the smell of his smoke and the crispness of his chill lingering.

*

At two A.M., Jess is still up, the writing the novel he'll probably never finish. Just the fact that it's in such a beat-up notebook with haphazard notes scrawled all over has doomed it from the start. A massive assault of writer's block has seized him in Stars Hollow, so the notebook has been carelessly discarded on the porch. He sits outside on the porch swing smoking, watching the wisps singe the air. 

In her bedroom, Rory is awake as well. She heard him go out onto the porch half an hour ago and has been contemplating joining him. Aaron offered to go and sleep at the inn, so as to give them all the room they needed and Rory guiltily didn't protest.

Her mind made up, she slithers out of bed and into slippers. The house is deathly silent as Rory sneaks past the tree and out into the bitter cold. She sees Jess' curving S of smoke and takes a deep breath before hauling herself over there.

"Hey," she says, standing at the edge of the swing.

Jess' eyes swipe her coolly and Rory sits next to him. He starts to get up. "Wait," Rory pleads. Going against his gut, Jess stays. "How are you?"

A scathing laugh drifts between them. "Super fantastic."

"Good," Rory replies.

"That Aaron guy—what a talker," Jess says sarcastically.

"Oh, and I'm sure you were the epitome of polite," Rory shoots back, angered at his pot-calling-the-kettle-black dig.

"I mean, really, those pauses were more like musical rests."

"Stop," Rory says, upset. "Aaron's a nice man."

"A nice man," Jess repeats, pulling another smoke out.

"Don't smoke that," Rory commands, a disdainful note in her voice.

"You can leave if you want," Jess offers, searching for his lighter.

"You quit."

"I took it up again."

"Sheesh," Rory mutters, turning away from the acrid smell.

"You two serious?"

"None of your business."

"You're right. I'm just the guy you fuck occasionally," Jess spits.

Rory's chin trembles. "I knew you'd do this."

"Do what?"

"Shoot Aaron down."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"I like him, for one."

"You also like Wilco. I can shoot them down."

"That's not the same and you know it."

"It's just opinion, Rory. If you like him so much, it shouldn't matter."

"I want you to be nice to him. He already feels unwelcome."

"It couldn't be because you banished him to the inn, could it?"

"I didn't _banish him_, he offered."

Jess rolls his eyes. "You're dating. You can sleep in the same bed."

"It's a twin."

"We did it," Jess retorts, looking at her face.

"You're smaller," Rory cuts at him, leaning on the double entendre.

"Of course, he would know nothing about that." Rory pauses, befuddled. "I mean, you obviously didn't see it fit to tell him anything."

"About us?"

"Yeah."

Rory sighs raggedly. "What's the point? We went out. We broke up."

"Yeah, that's pretty much the whole story."

"Well, what was I supposed to do?" Rory explodes. "'Hey, Aaron? You know Jess? We used to sleep together a lot. Don't let that make you uncomfortable, though.' Sure, great plan."

"You gonna marry him?"

"What?"

"Are you?"

"I don't know. We've only been going out for a few months."

"You are."

"Like you'd know."

"He's perfect for you. A professor. You'll have a brick and ivy house on the campus, a dog, two kids—"

"Shut up. You don't know that."

"Sure, Rory," Jess says with a jaded chuckle. "He's exactly what you've been looking for."

"And you know what I've been looking for."

"Yeah, him."

"What's so wrong with Aaron?" Rory demands.

Jess stubs the smoke out. "Nothing."

"So, what, you spend all this time tearing him down for nothing? He's a great man, Jess. He works hard, he likes his job, he treats me—"

"Like a little princess," Jess interjects. "Just what you've always wanted."

"Why are you doing this?!"

"You think that's gonna work, Rory?" Jess asks, his voice rising. "You're gonna be so bored with him. You're gonna sit in your house everyday, Scarlett with Ashley."

"You don't know anything about that!"

"I know about you, though."

"You—"

And Jess leans down and kisses her suddenly, taking every bit of breath with him. Instinctively, Rory kisses him back, clutching at him, pulling at him, remembering how much she misses the feel and taste of him. His kiss is absolutely powerful, causing her to forget about everything else. Like the smoke into the air, she whispers into him, feeling their fibers meld to one another.

He tries to break apart, but Rory doesn't want to, doesn't want to remember anything. If he keeps kissing her, she'll never have to think about Aaron or how this will turn out badly. Surprised, he complies with her urgent request, diving into her eagerly.

Somewhere dark, Rory waits for her conscience to kick in, but it doesn't. So she drags Jess through the door with her, to her unlit bedroom and stumbles onto the bed.

"Rory," he says, starting to leave her, but she can't let that happen, can't let him leave her with her thoughts.

"Don't," she says, tugging him on top of her, rubbing her leg between his. He moans very, very quietly and Rory conquers his mouth again, her hands busily plucking his shirt. Had her mind been working properly, she would have been appalled at her forwardness, but the small spark of lust that she always carries for Jess became the proverbial torch the second he kissed her. 

Grasping her, Jess rolls them so that Rory sits on top of him. It comes back to her like riding a bicycle and Rory grinds herself against him, bending to kiss him. While she works on his neck, Jess removes her shirt, exposing her skin to the chill. He flips them again, disorienting Rory on purpose as he flutters his lips down her chest to her waist. Impatient, Rory wriggles, silently begging him to remove the obtrusive garment.

Upstairs, Luke and Lorelai sleep, unwitting. But at the inn, something nebulous tortures Aaron, who remains stubbornly awake.


	8. Cronulla Breakdown

****

The Wurlitzer Prize

****

Dedications: The usual suspects: **emrie, Marissa, Chris, Kate **and **Hadar**.

****

Author's Note: Once again, thanks for the reviews. I really do appreciate them, positive or negative. I don't just write this drivel for myself. ;)

__

Part Eight: Cronulla Breakdown

Rory's dream makes her lurch into consciousness, sitting up very suddenly. She had been dreaming blissfully about Jess, and at the end, her dream reenacted last night's scene. In her hazy, half-aware state, Rory realized that the end had really happened, and now here she is, sitting up in bed, sheet held to her chest.

The space next to her, obviously slept in, is empty. Feeling stupid and immature, Rory lies back down, rolls into the indention, and breathes in deeply. It still smells like Jess, soapy and smoky. Her stomach clenches painfully and Rory feels tears coming on. Laying here, knowing that her boyfriend will be here any minute, that her mother is just outside the door, Rory feels positively trampy.

Determined not to cry, Rory pulls on some quasi-festive clothes to appease her mother and sits at her dresser to put on her makeup. In her mirror, she looks tired and haggard. There are dark circles under her eyes and her skin is red and uneven.

"Hey, Rory!" Lorelai shouts from the kitchen.

"Yeah?"

"Aaron's here, hon!"

"Send him in!" Rory yells, frantically wiping some powder, mascara and rouge on her face. She gives herself a "yeah, right" look in the mirror; makeup is too thin a mask.

"Hi," Aaron says, opening the door cautiously. 

"Hi, come on in." He shuts the door behind himself and sits on the rumpled bed. Rory winces.

"Should I sit here?"

"Go ahead," Rory says. Her mind shrieks that he's going to smother Jess' delicate scent, but her mouth says, "It's just really sloppy."

"I don't care."

Rory smiles. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Your mom's inn is beautiful." Aaron clears his throat. "Sorry about last night."

"You already apologized for no reason."

"I warned you, though. The weird comments just spew out of me."

"It's okay. I'm like that too." Nostalgically, Rory reflects on Dean, about how she was sure she was going to frighten him away with her non-stop patter. Looking at Aaron on the bed, Rory feels an overpowering tsunami of guilt and she goes to sit by him. They sit side by side against the headboard. "With my first boyfriend," she says, "I was so nervous, I'd just ramble and ramble…"

"Dean," Aaron states, obviously a little proud at having remembered this fact.

"Yeah, Dean," says Rory. "So yeah, I know the feeling."

"I'm so awful at meeting parents. My ex-girlfriend Jolene took me up to meet her parents at Easter and let's just say…Ben Stiller should have been there taking notes."

Rory giggles. "One time, Michael took me to this ritzy party in the Hamptons that his parents were throwing and I accidentally spilled my drink on his dad's business partner."

"I started talking about the time I met Howard Stern to Jolene's parents."

"I told Dean about my namesake within ten seconds of meeting him."

"I told this girl Miranda that I'm a vegetarian in Burger King."

"I said 'thank you' when Dean first kissed me."

"Really?" Aaron says. They both share a laugh, easily falling into a sweet easy rhythm together.

"Time to go to the inn," Jess says, popping his head inside. Rory instantly stops laughing and her face sobers. Aaron looks between the two, his chuckle fading and eventually dying out, wafting uneasily in the air.

"Okay," Rory tells him, getting off the bed. Jess leaves and Rory is glad that she doesn't have to avoid his eyes anymore.

"What's at the inn?" Aaron asks, looking totally befuddled.

"Oh, uh, Mom's having the town over for lunch today."

"Rory, it's ten-thirty," Aaron informs her.

"We have to set up."

"Oh."

"You can stay here if you don't want to come. I mean, I know that Christmas isn't really your…thing."

"I'll help."

A tight smile stretches across Rory's face. "Super." She leads him out the door and into the Jeep where Jess and Lorelai are waiting.

"Backseat," Lorelai says, jerking her thumb. "And I have the rearview mirror, so no funny business."

"Okay," Aaron says seriously. Lorelai laughs at him and he blushes.

"You have to get used to it," Rory tells him, trying to deaden the sting of humiliation. "She's rarely serious."

"Okay," Aaron says again, looking embarrassed. They settle into the backseat and Rory meets her mother's eyes in the rearview mirror. Lorelai looks sympathetic.

"So, how's Sookie?" Rory asks.

"Well, there's post-natal depression, but I think Sookie kind of resents the poor kid."

Aaron looks concerned about this but Rory laughs. "Keeping her from the kitchen again?"

"I thought she was going to hawk Carrie off, but poor Cole…"

"Just tell him that he can sue her for therapy," Rory suggests.

"That'll mean a lot at two months old."

"He'll thank you later." 

Lorelai saves them from silence. "So, Aaron, did you like the inn?"

"It's great, uh, Lorelai."

"It's my baby."

"Hey!" Rory protests, joking.

"Well, honey, you're too far away to be my baby. The Dragonfly, though…"

"Mom's only had the inn for seven years," Rory tells Aaron proudly. "It's already one of the most profitable inns in Connecticut."

"I love B and B's," Aaron offers.

In the front seat, Lorelai makes a truly dreadful sound and wails, "It's not a B and B!"

"Um, Mom's totally against B and B's," Rory tells Aaron, wishing she'd had the foresight to tell him this. "She thinks they're a scourge on the face of the earth."

"Yeah, and they're cutesy," Lorelai adds, her mouth twisting in disgust.

"Oh, well…sorry," Aaron apologizes meekly.

"Many people make that mistake," Rory offers reassuringly.

"But never again," Lorelai says, turning into the gravel drive. "It's my mission. _We're on a mission from God_," she says, imitating the _Blues Brothers_.

"Oh, right," says Aaron politely.

Thank God the car ride ends there. Jess hops out with nary a word and Rory shoves the seat forward for her and Aaron to get out. "I should have warned you," Rory says quietly to Aaron.

"That's all right."

As they walk to the door, Rory studies Aaron from the side. Not only can _she_ see that the weekend isn't going well, Aaron evidently can as well. There's a quiet strain and frustration on his face that Rory hasn't seen before, and she feels kind of guilty for dragging him here.

If she is honest with herself, she'd admit the truth: that she'd taken Aaron here just to verify that he isn't quite right. Sure, he's nice and kind, and will obviously make someone a great husband, but he just isn't for her. There isn't that gentle sarcasm and disdain for schmaltzy things that Rory and Lorelai share. Poor Aaron is a simple, sweet man, accepting of everything, but he has absolutely no edge. And that, Rory realizes, is what she craves.

In the kitchen, she introduces him to Sookie. "Aaron, this is Sookie, the Dragonfly's chef and my mom's best friend."

"Hi, nice to meet you," Aaron says, shaking her hand. He looks wary, as though wondering what new joke he won't understand.

"Well hi there."

"Sookie, this is Aaron. He's visiting for Christmas."

"Well, you came to the most festive town!" Sookie exclaims sweetly.

"I'm Jewish," Aaron says flatly. Rory bites her lip.

"Oh, well then." Looking flustered, Sookie waves her hands around a little and says, "Do you like orange almond bisque?"

"I've never tried it," Aaron says stiffly.

"Oh, you're missing out!" Sookie offers him a spoon, but he declines. "Well, I'm making chicken noodle, too."

Aaron makes a polite reply, then turns to Rory. "Um, hey, I'm just going to go up to my room."

"What? Why?" Rory asks, taken aback. "No, Aaron, stay."

Looking at Sookie, Aaron gently pulls her aside. "I'm just going to finish grading some papers. I don't think I belong here, Rory."

"Aaron, that's not true. Everyone likes you."

"I'm just going to be upstairs." Aaron nods at Sookie and leaves.

"Sorry, Sookie," Rory says, sitting on a stool across the counter from her.

"He was nice, sweetie."

"I think he's getting a little frustrated," Rory confides. "Mom freaked him out."

"Well, Lorelai can come on a little strong," says Sookie affectionately.

"Yeah…" Rory wants to tell Sookie all about everything suddenly, but she restrains herself. "How's Cole?"

"He's starting to quiet down. I think it was the chicken broth I made the other night."

"Probably," Rory says with a smile. 

"No, not there! Don't stir that!" Sookie hollers to an assistant chef.

"I'm gonna go help set up," Rory says, motioning toward the door.

"Okay, kitten!" Sookie calls over her shoulder. Rory lets the door swing shut behind her and hears an "Ouch!" from the kitchen. Shaking her head, Rory starts toward the dining room. 

She has to talk to Jess. Now is their best chance of being able to talk without interruption or prying ears. As much as she doesn't want to do it, she has to. 

"Hey, Jess."

"Hi," he says tersely.

"Want help?"

Straightening up, Jess looks at her intensely. Squirming, Rory stands her ground. _I have to do this_, she tells herself.

"Sure," he says, turning away. "Place cards?"

"Oh, good, I can separate Babette and Miss Patty."

"And put me far, far away from you," Jess says.

"What?"

"Well, you wouldn't want to be near me with Aaron in the room."

Rory looks down at the ground. "I don't think Aaron's coming to lunch."

"No?"

"He—uh, I think my mom scared him off."

"Didn't seem too hardy," Jess says sarcastically.

Silently, Rory sets the place cards down, putting her usual thoughtfulness into the task. Like she said, she's careful to seat Babette and Miss Patty at opposite ends of the table. But, she thinks, what if that just makes them shout louder? A riddle.

"You know they're just gonna be louder," Jess says very quietly, his lips right next to her ear.

Rory shivers violently. "Yeah," she says. Mainly to get away from him, she rearranges the placards. Her brilliant plan doesn't quite work, though; Jess corners her.

"You didn't come to help me."

"What do you call this?" Rory asks in the same hushed voice.

"You wanted to talk."

"How do you know?"

"I lived with you for a long time, Rory. Remember?"

"Yes, I remember," says Rory grouchily.

"So talk."

"We made a mistake."

Jess rolls his eyes. "Why have this conversation? I know what you're going to say."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. 'Jess, we made a mistake. Sorry about that. I'm going to go back to Aaron now because he's safe and secure. So, see you next time. Maybe we'll sleep together.'"

"Shut up," Rory says, her eyes watering. "That's not what I was going to say."

"Then what _were_ you going to say, Rory?" Jess asks, his voice cool and jaded.

"I was going to say that I'm still in love with you, dammit!" Rory says venomously, stomping her foot, eyes full of angry tears.

Jess just blinks.

"I knew you were going to say that," Rory says coldly, mockingly. "Well?" she demands, embarrassment settling in.

"Are you sure that's wise?"

"What?"

"Loving me. Really, Rory, I don't think all the people you associate with would approve."

"What are you doing?"

"You aren't in love with me, Rory. Quit kidding yourself."

"Jess…?"

"Oh, you thought I was just going to fall on my knees and kiss your feet? Jesus, Rory, you just like fucking me. It's not a big deal. Everyone has their guilty pleasure."

"You can be such a bastard sometimes," Rory hisses, shoving him out of her way. "You're right. I don't know what I was thinking."

Rory half-jogs outside into the biting cold. The sky is a bitter, miserable gray, flat and hard. Rory's chin trembles as the tears run down. It's hard to tell if she's ever been this hurt before because all she feels is a savage numbness. All she feels is a sting where her heart used to be. All she feels is nothing.

*

Aaron does not come down for lunch, even with Rory's wheedling. Maybe he can see that she's been unfaithful or that she's tired and beat up and twisted up and confused. Either way, he doesn't emerge from his room, leaving Rory to make a lot of excuses for him.

"Where is your beau, honey?" Miss Patty asks, clearly looking for a new hunk of meat to drool over.

"He isn't feeling well. I think it's the cold," Rory lies.

"That's too bad." And she seems sincerely disappointed.

"Hey, Patty, I think Michel brought a friend. A Frenchman," Lorelai adds with a wink.

"Well, I should go welcome him," Miss Patty purrs, slithering over to the poor victim.

"You okay?" Lorelai asks, looking concerned.

Unable to hold it in anymore with the ache in her heart, Rory pulls Lorelai over to the side. "I slept with Jess," she says to Lorelai, incapable of looking her mom in the eye.

"Oh. Have you told Aaron?"

"No. I…can't."

Lorelai raises Rory's chin. "You have to, baby. I know it sucks, but…it's not fair to him."

"He's going to break up with me anyway. There's no point in rubbing salt in it."

"Why?"

"Oh, Mom, this weekend has been a disaster."

Not saying a word, Lorelai purses her lips and looks away.

"See? It's been awful. And…" Rory lowers her eyes. "…I knew it was going to be."

"Honey?"

"I was just making sure. I knew we weren't going to work."

"Rory," Lorelai sighs, hugging her daughter. They stay like that for a minute, Rory's head tucked into the safe harbor of Lorelai's shoulder. When they pull apart, Lorelai asks, "What about Jess?"

"Please, don't ask."

"Come on, Rory, tell me."

"I told him I was still in love with him…and he…just…"

Lorelai doesn't offer any wisdom, just looks at Rory.

"Mom, I slept with him at your wedding too."

"Wow." Lorelai looks surprised, but not astonished.

"I just can't stop it. I can't—"

"Lorelai?" Sookie calls.

"Just a sec!" Lorelai calls back. "Be there in a minute. Go on," she says to Rory. "Finish."

"I really do love him, Mom. I miss him."

"So tell him that."

"He doesn't believe me."

"What?"

"He thinks it's all about…you know—"

"The sex?" Lorelai asks gently.

"Yeah."

Sookie comes over to their corner. "They're getting rowdy."

"Okay." Lorelai slings an arm around Rory's shoulders. "Come on."

"Something wrong?" Sookie asks, her forehead creased in good-natured worry.

"No, I'm fine, Sookie," Rory answers politely, smiling.

"Well, I made some coffee cookies for you to take back home," Sookie says.

"Thanks."

At the gigantic table, the townspeople are all gathered around, talking loudly. Babette and Miss Patty and screaming in laughter and Rory shakes her head. She takes her seat across from Jess, determined not to look at him.

"Hi, everyone," Lorelai says, and a hush is eventually achieved. "Thank you all for coming. As most of you know, this is kind of a Dragonfly tradition, and I'm glad we could do it again this year. So…dig in. And merry Christmas!"

There's a general murmur of the same sentiment and Sookie beams while everyone piles on generous servings of her delectable food. 

Rory spends the entire hour avoiding looking in Jess' direction. Even when Luke, who's sitting beside Jess and diagonally from Rory, talks to her, she looks at him from the oddest angle, trying to block Jess out of her vision.

Lorelai looks from Rory to Jess a lot, frowning. Luke looks across the table at her and jerks his head toward Jess. Lorelai nods and jerks her head toward Rory. Luke shakes his head and returns to his food, looking secretively at Rory, who's staring blankly at her food.

After lunch, Rory goes upstairs to see Aaron. The guilty black wave is overtaking her, and she knows that she needs to be honest with him. He doesn't deserve this. "Aaron?" she asks, knocking.

"Rory? Come in."

She edges the door open gently, peering around the edge. Aaron is at the desk under the solitary light of his lamp, his pencil gliding over someone's paper. "Hey," she says, stepping in.

"Hi," he says, turning around with a smile. "How was lunch?"

"Crazy. How's, um…your papers?" she asks, gesturing weakly.

"Well, they're…they're terrible," Aaron admits, smiling conspiratorially. "But it's just introductory calculus."

"Right." Rory nods as though that really means something to her. Wetting her lip, she wavers. She doesn't know if she can really do this. Sitting there in his bulky, dorky, thick blue sweater neo-nerdy glasses, Rory wonders if she can really hurt him like this. "Aaron…"

"Yes?"

"I think…" She hangs her head. "I think you deserve better than this."

"Than what?"

"Than me. I'm so sorry," she whispers. Rory sits on the edge of the bed and puts her hand lightly on Aaron's knee. "I'm so sorry."

"About what?"

"Aaron, I should have never gotten involved with you. You're just so nice and sweet and kind, though, and I couldn't resist." Rory swallows, gathering her wits, her words. "Aaron, I slept with Jess," she finally whispers, wishing she could disguise the foul comment with pretty words. "I…I can't even say anything for myself, I'm so ashamed."

"Rory?" Aaron's eyebrows knit together, but he leans closer instead of pushing her away.

"This weekend has been so awful for you. God, you don't even celebrate Christmas and I dragged you away from Boston and your religion to this weekend of hell where you don't get along with anyone and then I went and…and…" Rory wills herself to stop crying. "And you're so wonderful and I just betrayed you."

Aaron pulls her into a hug. "Rory," he says sadly.

"Aren't you mad?"

"I don't think mad is the right word."

"Then what is?"

"I'm sad, I guess." Aaron pulls away and slumps in his chair. "I think I knew when I saw Jess. Knew that you were…well, whatever you are."

"Aaron, I am so sorry."

"I don't doubt it."

"I…Jess…he's always…"

"I get it, Rory. I do." Aaron stands up. "I think I'm gonna get out of here."

"Aaron, you don't have to."

"I know. But I think it's best." Rory looks down and notices that his bags are already packed and a fresh black wave encompasses her. "I'll still be your friend," Aaron says, picking up his duffel.

"I don't deserve that," Rory says miserably.

"People have done worse things, Rory." Aaron bunches his papers in a clip and sticks them in an old attaché case.

"Aaron, please believe me. You're a great guy. Someone is going to be ecstatic when she meets you, because you're so wonderful. But you need someone who's not me."

"Okay. I'll take your word for it."

"Sorry I ruined your holiday," Rory says, trailing him out the door.

"Well, it was interesting."

"You can hate me," Rory offers.

"No, that's okay. I'm fine with liking you. You're just confused, Rory."

They are at his car. Aaron starts stowing things inside. "I hope you have a good one in Boston."

"Tell your mom thanks. And, um, good luck with Jess."

"Good luck," Rory repeats, still in awe that Aaron is so calm and gracious about this. "Yeah, you too."

"Bye, Rory Gilmore." Aaron kisses her on the cheek, climbs in, and drives away, leaving a cloud of white powder behind him, taking safety and security with him.

When Rory turns, she sees Jess' face, just shadows, in the window. She meets his eyes, her gaze hopefully impassive, hopefully collected.

*

Lorelai wakes the whole house up at six-thirty on Christmas morning, singing Christmas carols loudly, stomping, pounding, jingling bells. Rory stumbles out of her bedroom in pajamas, her face set in a scowl. Jess looks much the same when he appears from the guest bedroom.

"Merry Christmas!" Lorelai calls.

"Real merry," Rory mumbles to herself.

"First one for you, Rory," Lorelai says, tossing a box at her. "From Santa."

"Mom, you have got to stop putting that on packages."

"Why? It's fun."

Rolling her eyes, Rory peels the paper back and opens the cardboard box. Inside, she finds a gigantic coffee mug, imprinted with the words "Miss Smarty."

"Eh?" Lorelai asks.

"Santa sure does a good job of picking out presents," Rory says, trying to smile for her mother's benefit. She doesn't feel so smart right now.

"Oh, God," Luke says, quickly stuffing his gift back in the box. 

"And what did Santa bring _you_, Luke?" Lorelai asks, a devilish twinkle in her eye.

"I don't think _Santa_ was entirely sane when _he_ dropped this one by."

"Come on, Luke, show us," Jess says from across the room, his interest piqued.

Looking rather persecuted, Luke reluctantly holds the gift up for inspection. Rory almost chokes on her coffee.

"Santa brought you a Speedo!" Lorelai cries as though it's a surprise.

"Lucky me," Luke mutters, putting the garment down.

"No, lucky me," Lorelai leers.

"Okay, Mom, no," Rory says, grossed out.

"You're no fun."

When they're done opening presents, it's a little after seven. Rory keeps yawning, exhausted from little sleep and the stress of her emotions. "I'm going back to bed," she announces, standing up.

"You sure? I'm making pancakes," Luke says.

"I'm sure. Thanks though." Rory smiles half-heartedly, shuffling back to her dark room. She almost drops onto her bed but notices a conspicuous lump. Curious, she picks it up. It's a hastily wrapped present. She pries the plain brown paper off to reveal a hardcover edition of J.D. Salinger's _Nine Stories_. "Wow," she breathes. Inside, in Jess' neat script, it says, "For Rory. From Jess."

Wanting to cry, but bereft of tears, Rory hugs the book to her chest and snuggles under the covers, closing her eyes tightly.


	9. 99 Red Balloons

The Wurlitzer Prize  
  
Author's Note: Wow, it's been a while! I didn't realize it'd been that long. Sorry for the delay. In the meantime, I sincerely hope you read "Being Right is Overrated," by the amazing kimlockt or "Open Road" by lucia marin. (If you haven't, do).  
  
Dedications: The usual suspects; emrie, the beta from heaven; Marissa, my absolute favorite nag/college advisor (mwah!); Chris because she's insane; Hadar because she rocks; and to all the wonderful people at the GG fanfic board.  
  
Part Nine: 99 Red Balloons  
  
The next morning, Rory wakes up, moderately depressed. The day after Christmas has always been a melancholy one for her. With the celebrations done, the presents opened, the goodies eaten, there's nothing to do but clean up and go back to work. Luckily, the twenty-sixth has fallen on a Sunday, giving Rory all day to procrastinate about going home to her rather bleak shoebox apartment.  
  
When Rory opens her bedroom door onto the kitchen, she can hear Luke and Lorelai in the living room. Following the dulcet banter of their voices, she stumbles into the living room, where Lorelai is staring sadly at the Christmas tree that Luke is dismantling.  
  
"Lorelai, we can't keep the Christmas tree up."  
  
"Luke."  
  
"Lorelai.it's going to dry out and the house will burn down."  
  
"You're such a pessimist," Lorelai whines. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Rory standing in the doorway. "Hey, babe," Lorelai greets her enthusiastically.  
  
"Morning," Rory half-mumbles.  
  
"Hey, Rory," Luke says, his voice muffled behind the tree as he attempts to untangle Lorelai's light arrangement. "Lorelai, how the hell did you get these things on?"  
  
Winking at Rory, Lorelai says, "Hmm.I don't know."  
  
"Funny," Luke says sarcastically. "Do you want this house to go up in flames?"  
  
"Can we save all my shoes?"  
  
"Never mind." Luke picks out a cord and starts unraveling.  
  
Sighing, Lorelai walks over to Rory, picking her way across the various boxes holding ornaments and garlands. "Hungry?"  
  
"No, not really."  
  
"Luke made some muffins," Lorelai offers, trying to entice Rory into eating. She hasn't eaten since lunch on Christmas Eve.  
  
"I'm not hungry," Rory asserts.  
  
Gently taking her arm, Lorelai leads Rory into the kitchen and sits at the table with her. "I think we need to talk."  
  
"Nothing to talk about," Rory says dolefully.  
  
"Aaron bolted." Rory looks around the room, wary of Jess bursting in on them. As if reading her mind, Lorelai says, "Jess left early this morning."  
  
"Yeah, Aaron bolted," Rory agrees. "I told him about Jess."  
  
"Good girl." Taking her daughter's hand, Lorelai asks, "How did he take it?"  
  
"He took it." Rory feels a lump forming in her throat. ".He took it like a perfect gentleman and said that we can be friends," she finishes at a whisper.  
  
"Aw."  
  
"I felt so awful."  
  
"Rory, honey, don't take this the wrong way, but it was natural to feel awful. You did kind of sleep with another guy during Christmas weekend."  
  
"Don't remind me."  
  
"And Jess.?"  
  
"I don't know. I haven't talked to him since."  
  
"Still giving him the silent treatment?"  
  
"He's doing the same thing to me," Rory says defensively.  
  
"You're really still in love with him?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And you really want to be with him?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Lorelai sighs. "Babe, can I ask you a question?"  
  
"Since when do you say that?"  
  
"Well, I don't think you're going to like it."  
  
"Just say it."  
  
"Why do you want to be with Jess?"  
  
Squinting, Rory looks into the distance. She can feel Jess hands roaming all over her and his lips on hers and she can hear him murmuring into her ear and she just knows. "Whenever I'm with anyone else, all I can think about is Jess."  
  
"That's a pretty good reason," Lorelai says. "And the look on your face works too."  
  
"The look on my face?"  
  
"Yeah." Lorelai smiles wistfully. "Just don't let him make you unhappy, all right?"  
  
"I don't think I can help it."  
  
"My poor baby."  
  
Rory looks helplessly at her mother. "What do I do?"  
  
"What do you want to do?"  
  
"I just want to be with Jess." Hanging her head, letting her hair drape over her face, Rory feels silly. This is, after all, the man who always makes her feel confused and angry. But he's also the man who can make her tingle and jump like no other, who is never afraid to tell her the brutal truth, who always has new and interesting perspective on everything.  
  
"Okay. Then you just have to make him believe that."  
  
"How?"  
  
"How did Jess make you believe it a long time ago?"  
  
Perplexed, Rory gazes at her mother. Then it pops. "He came to me. He moved back here from New York."  
  
"Exactly." Lorelai gets a panicky look on her face. "Don't quit your job unless you can get another one, though!"  
  
"I know, Mom." Rory stands up and moves toward her room. "I need to do some.thinking."  
  
"Okay, hon. Just let me know if you need anything. You sure you don't want a muffin?"  
  
Automatically, Rory almost says "no," but she feels a painful empty rumble in her stomach. "You know, I might have one."  
  
"Excellent." Lorelai scoops a muffin onto a plate and hands Rory coffee, then kisses her on the cheek.  
  
"Mom?" Rory asks, looking down at her hands holding the plate and mug.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Are you disappointed?"  
  
"In you?"  
  
"No, in my.choice."  
  
"About Jess? Of course not. If that's who you need, that's who you need. It must be in the genes," Lorelai says with a sly glance toward the living room.  
  
"Yeah, must be." Rory smiles and retreats to her bedroom where she unearths her cell phone from deep in her purse and dials the familiar number. "Jen?"  
  
"Rory? Hi!"  
  
"Hi. Merry Christmas."  
  
"Merry Christmas! You're a little late."  
  
"I know. I was going to call yesterday, but."  
  
"But what?"  
  
"But.look, Jen, do you remember way back when we first met?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"And I was with that guy for a pretty long time?"  
  
"The one you refused to talk about? Yeah, I remember."  
  
"Okay. That was Jess. Is Jess."  
  
"Jess."  
  
"And I slept with him." It almost feels to Rory as though she's giving this confession by rote, she's done it so many times. "First at my mom's wedding and then this weekend."  
  
"Rory!" Jen exclaims. There's a brief silence, and then Jen says, "I didn't think you had it in you."  
  
"I do. And Aaron and I broke up."  
  
Jen sighs. "Another one bites the dust."  
  
"But I'm in love with Jess."  
  
"You have been forever," Jen realizes.  
  
"Yes. And do you remember that job at the Times?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Well, I'm going to call Glenn tomorrow and see if I can get it."  
  
"And.?"  
  
"And I'm going to move to New York."  
  
"What?!"  
  
"I need this, Jen," Rory whispers.  
  
"What am I going to do without you?"  
  
"It's not definite yet."  
  
"Oh, come on, you're going to get that job."  
  
"I don't know." Rory sighs raggedly and sits on her bed. "I'm sick of breaking up with all these guys, Jen. I know how to fix it. I just don't know if I can."  
  
"I think moving all the way to New York is a pretty good step," Jen says.  
  
"You don't know Jess. He's so stubborn."  
  
"Rory, if it's what you really want, then it'll happen."  
  
"Thanks, Jen."  
  
"Anytime. Hey, I hate to cut this short, but Scott's parents are still here."  
  
"Okay, sure. Thanks again."  
  
"That's what friends are for."  
  
"Hey, how are Scott's parents?"  
  
"They're okay. His mom's pushing for grandchildren." She lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Cross your fingers for me."  
  
With a laugh, Rory says, "Good luck."  
  
"Thanks. Talk to you soon."  
  
"I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
"That's right."  
  
"Bye," Rory says. Jen says the same and they hang up. Like she usually does, Jen gives Rory confidence, and for the first time, she feels like maybe she can do this. Picking up her muffin, she takes a monstrous bite.  
  
*  
  
Back in Boston the next day, Rory sits at her desk at the Globe. It's her lunch break, where normally she and Jen go out, but today Rory is carefully preparing all her ammunition for a phone call to the Times. She is determined to get this job. Not only will it be a major step up in the world for her-editorials at the New York Times-it will get her closer to Jess. Now the only problem is getting him to love her.  
  
"Glenn Baxter, please," Rory requests of the receptionist. Her hands are shaking as the call is transferred through the line.  
  
"Glenn Baxter," he answers.  
  
"Glenn, hello, this is Lorelai Gilmore."  
  
"From Boston."  
  
"Yes, from Boston."  
  
"Well, Lorelai, good to hear from you."  
  
"Thank you. I was wondering if you had anymore news on that editorial job," Rory says, her throat dry.  
  
"Actually," Rory can hear shuffling, "I do." Rory's heart clenches and she holds the phone tighter, afraid it will slip out of her hand. "Miller quit, just like I thought, so it's open for the bidding. If you want to come up here for a formal interview, I'll be happy to see you."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Really. Of course, it'll be Hammersted that makes the final decision, but I'll put a good word in for you."  
  
"Thank you so much, Glenn."  
  
"My pleasure. When can you be here?"  
  
"Tomorrow," Rory says, eagerly.  
  
Glenn chuckles on the other end. "Such enthusiasm. How does a three o'clock interview sound?"  
  
"Perfect."  
  
"I'm putting you in."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Sure. See you tomorrow."  
  
"Right, tomorrow."  
  
Rory hangs up the phone with a brilliant bubble of happiness in her stomach. Writing editorials for the New York Times. This is what she dreamed of. And she's just one interview away.  
  
Jen pokes her head over the top of Rory's cubicle. "Hey you."  
  
"Hey."  
  
"So?"  
  
"I've got an interview tomorrow at three," Rory says, almost smugly.  
  
"Hey, great."  
  
"I know."  
  
"What'd I tell you?"  
  
"What did you tell me?"  
  
"That you'd get that job."  
  
"I don't have it yet."  
  
"Please," Jen says, rolling her eyes. "You're getting it."  
  
Rory just smiles.  
  
"What are you wearing?" Jen asks, leaning her arms on the cubicle wall.  
  
"I don't know.skirt. Blouse. Shoes."  
  
"Make sure everything's ironed."  
  
"I will, Mom."  
  
"Hey, I'm trying to help."  
  
"I know."  
  
Jen starts to walk away, but turns and says, "Wear the blue skirt."  
  
"Will do," Rory says with a smile, turning back to tomorrow's Annie's Mailbox column.  
  
*  
  
At eight o'clock the next morning, Rory is on the New York-bound train, wearing her blue skirt. Nervous, she looks out the window, thinking about inconsequential things to keep her mind off her interview. She's too anxious to read, too anxious to anything but sit here and stare.  
  
In New York, Rory picks out a mildly seedy-looking diner to have lunch in and picks at her food, wishing Jen were here to keep her company. To amuse herself, she looks around the diner, watching people have conversations, making up names, occupations and lives for them.  
  
Three o'clock finally rolls around and Rory finds herself standing outside Mr. Hammersted's door, wringing her hands, trying to stop.  
  
"Miss Gilmore?" the secretary asks. "You can go on in."  
  
"Thanks." Rory smiles and steps through the door, trying to look confident.  
  
"Miss Gilmore," says Mr. Hammersted. Rory had expected his office to be gigantic and intimidating, but quite the contrary, it is rather small and filled to the brim with newspaper clippings, some framed, some merely tacked to the wall. "Hello," he says, standing to shake her hand.  
  
"Hello."  
  
"Please, sit." Rory sits in the chair opposite from his desk, which looks as though it has been temporarily moved in here for the occasion. "So, you're up from Boston."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Nice city."  
  
"Yes, yes it is."  
  
"And you work for the Globe."  
  
"Yes, I work for the Globe. I've been there for two and a half years."  
  
"And you're seeking this position because."  
  
"I want to use my journalistic skills, not my relationship skills," Rory says, referring to her Annie's Mailbox gig. "Harvard did not educate me to advise people on their personal problems. I want to actually use my degree."  
  
"So why have you stayed at the Globe for so long?"  
  
"I had been led to believe, falsely, that there was hope for promotion. And frankly, I was just happy to have a job."  
  
"Of course. It can be tough in this industry." Hammersted glosses over her resume. "It says you majored in journalism and political science."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well, that was a wise decision." Hammersted nods. "What is your experience with writing this kind of column?"  
  
"At the back, there are some of my college articles attached."  
  
Hammersted rifles to the back and nods. He skims a few of them over and leans back in his chair. When he looks up, he meets her eyes with a steady, unflinching gaze. Rory, determined not to let this job slip past, holds it.  
  
They talk about a few more things. They talk about her college experience. They talk about her aspirations. They talk about her idols. And after all that.  
  
"Well, I'll take a more thorough look at this and give you a call."  
  
"That sounds great."  
  
"Good." Hammersted stands up and shakes Rory's hand again. "Thank you, Miss Gilmore."  
  
"No, thank you."  
  
Rory lets herself out of the Times building and into the bustle of the New York sidewalk. She feels like skipping down the street. She might actually get a real job.  
  
After her euphoria dies down a little, Rory digs a little slip of paper out of her briefcase. She stands by the subway map for ten minutes, mapping out a disjointed little journey to her destination. The subway intimidates her, but Rory makes the trip unscathed and walks slowly down the street until she's standing right in front of it.  
  
Peering in the window, scared to go in, Rory sees stacks of books. Rows of books. Piles of books. Mountains of books. It looks like the most wonderful place in the world. Backing up, she gets a wide view of the store, called simply Hemingway's. Rory feels a pleasant knot in her stomach and she smiles at the name-so very Jess.  
  
She stands outside his bookstore for a long time, just looking at the people walk past, walk in, walk out. Inside herself, she holds a long debate as to whether or not she should wander in and look through it, maybe tell Jess that she's moving to New York.  
  
But she doesn't, of course. Because Jess is right; deep down, Rory doesn't really change. And she's scared, scared to death that they'll reenact their last conversation together, scared he'll send her away, scared she'll mess up.  
  
So she stands outside for twenty minutes, though it feels like an hour, just watching. Waiting. Hoping.  
  
*  
  
Jen stands up. "Please tell me this is the last box ever."  
  
"I don't know about ever."  
  
"I'm never moving."  
  
"I don't have that much stuff."  
  
"It looks like a lot more when it has to be packed," Jen mutters, rubbing her back. "God, my back hurts." She takes her crisp shirt in her hand and frowns when she sees that she's gotten dirt and dust on it.  
  
"Most of it's books, and those are easy."  
  
"And heavy."  
  
"And then there's kitchen stuff."  
  
"Which I think you should get rid of anyway. I mean, you never use it."  
  
"You never know when you might need that stuff."  
  
"When you're suddenly possessed by Julia Child?"  
  
"Right, then."  
  
The girls sit on Rory's couch and lean against each other. "So, what's your apartment in New York like?" Jen asks.  
  
"Smaller than this."  
  
"Is that possible?"  
  
"Apparently." Rory sighs. "I don't know if I can get everything in."  
  
"Rory, you have a couch, a chair, and a kitchen table. That's not a lot of furniture."  
  
"I think the chair will have to go, because with the chair comes the ottoman."  
  
"My God, how small is it?"  
  
"You know those solitary confinement cells?"  
  
Jen just laughs. "When are Luke and Lorelai coming?"  
  
"In about an hour, I think. As long as they haven't 'pulled over at a rest stop,'" Rory says, using air quotes.  
  
"I see," Jen says with her eyebrows raised. "Well, I have to go clean up. Scott's coming at six."  
  
"Thanks for the help, Jen."  
  
"Sure thing." Jen kisses Rory's cheek. "I'll miss you."  
  
"I'll miss you too."  
  
"Promise to call?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"And wait at least a week before you replace me."  
  
"I don't think I can find anyone quite that crazy."  
  
"Well, good." Jen and Rory hug tightly, and Rory almost starts crying. "I'll come visit."  
  
"You better."  
  
"Likewise."  
  
"Okay, well."  
  
"Yeah, I'm just gonna go. Goodbyes suck."  
  
"They sure do." Rory and Jen smile at each other and Jen lets herself out. Rory sits on the couch again, getting ready to cry. She didn't anticipate leaving Jen being so hard. Over the years, through everything, Jen has become closer than family to Rory. Deep down, though, Rory knows they'll lose each other. Despite Jen being a wonderful friend, she secretly disapproves of Rory running off to be with the bad boy. To her credit, she tries to hide her disapproval, but Jen loves security, stability, and wealth. Jess is none of those.  
  
An hour and a half later, Luke and Lorelai are at her door. Lorelai has her Jeep and Luke has his truck, and they're going to move Rory to New York. "Okay, let's do this thing," Lorelai calls, obviously excited.  
  
"Okay, mattress first," Luke requests.  
  
"I'm going to take this down," Lorelai announces, picking up a box. "Hey! That's heavy."  
  
Luke shakes his head as Rory leads him down the hall to her bedroom. The two struggle with the mattress and eventually wedge it out the door. "So, you excited?" Luke asks as they make their way slowly down the hallway toward the stairwell.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Good. Sounds like a good job."  
  
"I think it will be."  
  
They don't talk for a little while as they shove, pull, lift and drag the full size mattress to Luke's truck and heave it in. Luke looks around warily, then leans in a little closer to Rory. "I talked to Jess."  
  
"Oh?" Rory asks.  
  
"I didn't say anything about.you."  
  
"Did he ask?"  
  
"No," Luke says, his eyes on the ground.  
  
"Oh," Rory says, though she's not surprised.  
  
"But for what it's worth, I think he.loves you.too," Luke finishes weakly.  
  
"Okay. Thanks, Luke," Rory says awkwardly.  
  
"Sure. So, uh, I think the couch will have to come next. We might need your mom for that one."  
  
"If we can tear her away," Rory says dryly, looking to Lorelai as she hefts another box into the Jeep.  
  
Doing his usual head shake, Luke starts back upstairs. Looking at her apartment dismantled and spread into trucks, Rory feels the odd sensation of trepidation and relief. She's really doing this. She's really moving to New York. She's really taking her life into her own hands. 


	10. Sunday Morning

****

The Wurlitzer Prize

By columbiachica (kat2005)

__

Part Ten: Sunday Morning

****

Dedications: To **emrie** (the best beta in the world and one of the coolest people I know), **Marissa** (for giving me invaluable advice and friendship), **Hadar** (because she's the head sucker!), **Chris** (because she understands the SoCo obsession), and all the wonderful Literati authors whose works I love to pieces.

Adjusting to her new job hasn't been the breeze Rory counted on, but she's slowly acquainting herself with the rhythm of the office, learning how to deal with the backlash her editorials sometimes cause (on a small scale), figuring out the subway system. Still, she hasn't sought Jess out. It feels silly, to have come all this way and still not moved on her plan. Her mother calls nearly everyday to ask about developments in the "Jess situation." 

So far, Rory hasn't made a real friend in New York, but she reminds herself that it's only been a few weeks. Due to the lack of companionship, Rory doesn't go out much, but instead sits at home, reading, listening up on the latest politics to come up with editorial topics, trying to cook some edible meals. Instant mashed potatoes, she's discovered, really aren't so bad.

But one Saturday night, she's restless. And she knows: it's time. If she's going to do the Jess thing, it'll have to be soon. Otherwise, she'll lose her nerve and forget why she came here in the first place, get caught up in her lonely little life.

Shutting off her TV, Rory lets herself out of her teeny apartment and rides the elevator down. It took her a week to get accustomed to being able to use the elevator and it still feels weird. She nods to the person who's getting on as she gets off at the lobby and walks out into the evening. It's frigid outside, since it's January, so Rory gathers her down coat close and bends her head against the wind.

Her apartment is close to Jess' store, only six blocks away, so she walks. There are a ton of people out tonight, since it's Saturday, and Rory tries to ignore all the happy couples and remind herself that Jess kind of hates her. When she gets to his store, there's only a dim light on inside, and she peeks in the window, wondering if he's still in there. It's eight o'clock, so he's closed, but Rory hopes he's still inside, doing inventory or just reading.

A shadow moves across the wall, and Rory jumps. Moving to the front door, she pounds. It's dark and cold and there are people everywhere, looking at her like she's insane, but Rory just keeps banging.

"We're closed," Jess says, his voice hostile when he finally opens the door.

"I know," Rory says, her breath condensing in the air.

"Rory…?"

"Hi."

"Hi."

"Can I come in?" Jess moves aside, letting her slither in through a small aperture. It's warm and cozy inside, and Rory breathes a breath of relief. She follows Jess away from the door, which he locks, and toward the light at the counter.

"What are you doing here?" Jess asks doubtfully, probably expecting her Nick Hornby thing again.

"I live here."

"What?"

"I live here. In New York."

Jess leans his elbows on the counter across from her. "Since when?"

"Since a few weeks ago. I guess you don't read the _Times_."

"Why?"

"I have a week-day editorial column," Rory tells him, a little haughtiness in her voice. 

"Well."

Rory dampens her lips, wondering where the conversation goes from here. Is this the appropriate time to tell him the whole story? "I like your store."

"Thanks."

"It's cozy."

Jess' face contorts distastefully at the choice of adjective, but he doesn't say anything. "It's nearly unprofitable."

"But do you like it?"

"Yeah," Jess admits.

Rory feels a little breathless. She's really here, really in New York, really talking to Jess in his store. But now what? Looking at Jess, she knows one thing: she wants him to come home with her tonight. So why not tell him that? "Are you done here?"

"Why?"

"Are you?"

"I guess."

"Come with me."

"Where?"

"Home," Rory says, her tone quiet, wishing she could say it with more conviction.

Jess just stares at her in that unnerving way he has and Rory forces herself to hold it, praying she hasn't humiliated herself. Without a word, Jess turns the lamp off and gently presses on the small of her back toward the door, securing it behind them. Shyly, Rory takes his hand as they walk down the sidewalk. It feels warm and rough against hers.

Neither one of them says anything the entire way to her humble apartment. Rory works the obstinate lock open and lets Jess in. It's kind of bare, kind of haphazard so far, but Rory's not embarrassed.

"So commodious," Jess says, a smirk on his face.

"Yours didn't look so big either," Rory says, smiling at him.

"And it has a roommate."

"So there you go."

"Rory, why are you here?" Jess asks, looking at her inquisitively. 

"I have a job at the _Times_," Rory says. Not replying, Jess just looks at her. "And I came here…for you."

"I see," Jess says.

He walks closer to her, pulling her in by the waist. It's easy for Rory to press firmly against him; she's so familiar with him, so used to it, so attuned to him. It seems like it's taking him forever to kiss her, so Rory brazenly reaches up on her toes and crushes her lips against his. They kiss for a long time in her silent living room, just feeling each other.

"Did you mean it?" Rory asks when they break away.

"Mean what?" Jess asks, his lips red and slightly swollen.

"What you said at Christmas."

He doesn't say anything for a while. Then, ducking his head into her neck, he whispers, "No."

"Because I did."

"The part about me being a bastard?"

"Partly. But mostly the other part."

They smile at each other, and Jess kisses her again. Legs brushing, almost tripping, they make it to Rory's cramped bedroom, which is bestrewn with clothing of all kinds, but Rory doesn't care. She just concentrates on the stimulation in her veins, the softly building throbbing. Together they fall onto her unmade bed tangles together in a messy passionate heap. 

For a while, they just feel and reacquaint. And when the real thing comes, Rory shuts her eyes, buries her head in Jess' lightly sweaty skin and leans into him, never wanting it to end.

*

Sunday morning, Rory's bed is empty. At first, she panics, wondering if Jess has run off, like he has the tendency to do. But some heavenly aroma is wafting into her bedroom and Rory hurriedly throws on her panties and a T-shirt and goes to the kitchen where Jess is cooking.

"Coffee," Rory says, pouring herself a mug.

"And pancakes," Jess adds.

Rory takes her "Miss Smarty" mug and stands behind Jess while he cooks, resting her head on his shoulder blade, reveling in the scent. She likes the movement of his muscles under her cheek as he flips the pancakes the starts heating the syrup.

"You wanna get plates?"

Rory goes to the cupboard and grabs two plates, standing by. It's their ritual to do this. Rory waits for Jess to finish cooking the pancakes and he flips them onto the plates she holds. Then, she takes the butter and hot syrup and mugs of coffee over to the table, where they sit and look at the rain that is threatening to turn to ice.

"This is nice," Rory says through a mouthful of pancakes.

It takes a while, but Jess says, "It is."

When they're done, they stick the plates in a sink full of hot, soapy water, since the dishwasher is broken. While Jess scrapes off the remnants of grease and pancake from plates and pans, Rory dries and puts them back in their places. They word together in peaceful quiet harmony, their own little melody.

And then it's just them. No dishes, no breakfast, no television, no music. Just them and their breathing, just them and their eyes. Rory slips her arms around Jess and hugs him to her, happy to finally be here, knowing that there's no one else she's supposed to be with.

"Do you have to work?" she asks his chest.

"Not now."

"Closed on Sundays?"

"Sunday mornings."

"That's nice," Rory says, still not letting go. "And when you get off work…"

"I'll come here," Jess concludes for her.

"And I'll be here," says Rory quietly.

They stay like that for a very long moment, Rory hugging Jess around this waist, him hugging her shoulders, his head immersed in her rumpled hair. It's quiet and cool and placid in the room and Rory feels almost the same inside for the first time in a long time. So maybe Jess isn't perfect and maybe she isn't either and maybe they aren't perfect together, but it's pretty damn close.

Pretty damn close.

****

Author's Note: First of all, this is the final part of The Wurlitzer Prize. I didn't intend to take so long to publish it, but I didn't anticipate the way last year would unfold either. Second, I don't know if/when I will update old fics or publish new fics. The show itself has been of little inspiration to me and I'm gradually moving away from the characters. Who knows if I'll get a burst of enthusiasm again and actually finish the gazillion fics I had in the works? It could happen. In the meantime, I highly suggest reading works by authors who are light-years better than me: **Green Eve**, **RubyKate**, **kimlockt**, **Stew Pid**, **lucia marin**, **MahilaLily** (**Becka**), **Jamie Witter**, **Angel Grace**… the list could go on for a long time.


End file.
